


The Medic-Nin's Guide to Casual Revolution

by spideywhiteys



Series: what's the procedure? [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Anxiety, Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood Trauma, Clan Politics, Depressed Kakashi, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Found Family, Gay Panic, Gen, Hospitals, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Konoha being conservative and STUPID, Lots of OCs - Freeform, M/M, Medical Ninja, Mild Gore, Multi, Overcoming Trauma, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Indulgent, Self-Insert, Smut, Sort of a fix it, Team as Family, and implement actual sustainable healthcare, because toshiro says fuck canon, chakra and medical stuff, even though he's not aware he's in a manga, he is also bi, i am not a doctor but this is a naruto fanfic so my word is law, now it's just a straight up slow burn, slow burn in a ... their timeline sense, sorta...more OC than me, there are many....MANY children, toshiro is trying to overthrow the government, we stan Uchiha
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-23 10:00:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 30
Words: 151,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23609689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spideywhiteys/pseuds/spideywhiteys
Summary: Aikawa Toshiro has lived a life before this one, and he's gotta say, even his previous healthcare system wasn't as bad as the absolute metaphorical SHACK it was here. After being a child soldier (not great, wouldn't recommend) in a war that took far more than it gave, he's decided to do something about it. Life beget change, and if Konoha was so frequently likened to a tree, shouldn't it be expected to grow?Then there's Inu.
Relationships: Hatake Kakashi/Original Character(s), Nara Shikamaru & Original Character(s), Uchiha Itachi & Original Character(s), Uchiha Shisui & Original Character(s), Uchiha Shisui/Original Female Character(s)
Series: what's the procedure? [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1842634
Comments: 2102
Kudos: 7072
Collections: A Collection of Beloved Inserts, A Labyrinth of Fics, An Uchiha's Hoard, Best Fics From Across The Multiverse, Duskangelbulb's Bookshelf, Favorite Self-Insert and OC-Centric Fanfics, Fics That Make Me Feel Good, Fics That Should Be Adored and Loved, Gifts from Literature Deities, Hainako's Collection of amazing fanfiction, Japanese Approved, Long Fics to Binge, Morian, Naruto - (読み返す [よみかえす]), Not to be misplaced, Precious Rare and Unique, Recommended by Hallen, Reincarnation and Transmigration, SQ74's Naruto Favs, Serial (Time) Killers, Stories That Deserve More, The Last Rec List, Time and Dimension Travel Involving Medical Advancements, best fic collection ever read, stuff i really really like, why im sleep deprived 💖✨





	1. freshly planted

**Author's Note:**

> so...first foray into the naruto fandom with an oc. this is gonna be a really loose, snippet style story! i'm writing three stories at the same time including this one, so please be patient with me! updates will probably be sporadic but i plan on finishing this. it's not gonna be crazy long, more self-indulgent and poetic, but i hope you guys enjoy it!

It’s not that he didn’t know he died. That fact is pretty easy to understand and become comfortable with after a matter of hours. It’s that he somehow ended up as a baby in another universe absolutely nothing like his own; a world where children as young as three were soldiers and war was fought with magic. (It’s not magic, but he’d thought as much for a solid year!)

Aikawa Toshiro is born in Konoha, during one of the hottest summers they’d ever experienced, as war raged around them and more came home scarred than not, if at all. The memories don’t really settle in his head right for a bit. By the time he  _ really  _ gets a grasp on everything and takes a few hours to overcome the idea of reincarnation, he’s in an orphanage.

His parents are the victims of war. 

He’s young enough that no one really expects him to feel sad, or even understand the concept of death in a concrete sense, so he doesn’t. Feel sad, that is. Because he’s not, really. There’s only foggy baby memories of them, and while it’s certainly disappointing and he feels bad, there isn’t enough of a connection to warrant any mourning on his part. 

He’s two. Soon to be three. The orphanage is a run-down, overpopulated disaster zone, new children arrive by the boatload. He sits back. He observes. He  _ learns. _ Clan kids never arrive, kept by relatives no matter how distant. Any child four and older is watched for intelligence and skill, then plucked from the orphanage to join the academy. Kids like that are given their own apartment and an ‘allowance’, though incredibly meager and generally only enough to keep the kids fed. The economy is equally in shambles and booming. There’s not enough of some things, sickening amounts of others. Weapon production is at an all time high.

Some kids go missing.

Toshiro doesn’t know if anyone notices, or even cares. (But he resolves to not end up like them, because he can’t do anything for them, harsh as it sounds. Not like this, in this tiny, weak body.) Children are quite literally drafted, ninja coming by at random intervals to swing some big speech about village loyalty, the will of fire, power and knowledge. All the while, their sharp, piercing gazes sweep the hundreds of tiny, dirty faces peering back, looking for anyone with signs of genius. Of  _ potential. _

He finds out the hard way that he is woefully out of his league, and avoiding the gazes of these recruitment nin is more difficult than he realized. Toshiro learns a lot about what happens to children shunted into single-bedroom apartments to fight in a war because he becomes one of them. 

(This happens when he’s four, just old enough to make the cut. They would have taken him earlier, he knows, if the Hokage didn’t have  _ some _ semblance of restraint and guilt over sending literal children with baby fat padding their cheeks into battle with men.)

Toshiro is not a coward, per se. But he’s not interested in fighting a battle like this, when he’s not sure he even cares enough for the village to put his life on the line for it. Alas, he doesn’t have a choice. They say he does, of course, but they’re lying. Toshiro doesn’t want to become one of those children who disappear. The route of civilians is safety and a slow, meandering pace. So much time to walk about and breathe. Shinobi are born sprinting, reckless and flashing out like fireworks, their life expectancy just a snap of fingers in length. 

Toshiro learns to run.

They call him a genius, and maybe he is. But he has the body of a child and very little motivation beyond his own survival. It becomes obvious that he is a genius of the mind rather than the body, but at this point the shinobi system will take what they can get. 

So he gets his apartment, with it’s dusty corners and leaky kitchen faucet and the fridge that seems to hum a little too loud — and he trains. He trains until he heaves up half the meals he chokes down, his bruises grow bruises and calluses practically fall off his hands to leave thicker, hardier skin behind. 

He doesn’t make friends. Friends would be a liability. If he makes it out of this alive, if the war ends and peace happens, then he’ll think about making friends. That way it might hurt a little less. All the kids around him act like this is a game — no, that’s a lie. Anyone not from a clan acts like it is. They’re playing ninja, running with knives in their hands and saying  _ ‘I win!’ _ when they successfully push each other in the dirt.

Except that distancing doesn’t work. Not a hundred percent.

It still hurts to watch children fold like a house of cards, too small to be formless and gaping on the soil, crimson spilling from carved flesh. Toshiro counts fourteen dead children by the time he’s nine, and by then he’s only been in the field for a year after graduating at eight. It’s not impressive. Everyone is graduating at eight, and that sickens him. 

His fighting skills are average, the chakra in his veins average, the only thing extraordinary about him is his mind. And, he finds out, his control of chakra. He pulls it tight into his core and vanishes from the senses of others, which lets him slit the throat of his adversary before they see him coming. It’s the twelfth man he’s killed — though  _ man _ is a relative term, it was 8 men and 4 women — and while he’s sitting in the middle of the forest among the corpse of the one he’d killed and the six others who’d made up both his team and the opposing one —  _ dust in his lungs, iron in his nose and flaking, hot crimson under his nails, the lone survivor for the third time _ — he realizes he wants more.

* * *

Aikawa Toshiro is fifteen years old. His hair is ashy blond and mostly straight, chopped short around his ears but a little longer on top. (He’s thinking about growing it out, Yukimura-sensei’s dark hair tied back in a bun had an appealing look to it. No, he wasn’t attracted to her, but her hair style was inspiring.) His eyes are stunning, sakura petal pink and a faint spray of freckles trails across his nose and cheekbones. 

He’d been asked out by six different girls during his first year of work. One day he’ll get enough courage to tell everyone that the reason he’s not interested is because he likes dick. Unfortunately, that day is not today. He doesn’t have enough sway — enough  _ power _ — beyond the hospital to be protected by prejudice. It’s easier among shinobi, most taking the  _ live fast, eat ass _ motto pretty seriously. They didn’t care who slept with who because if you were gonna die sooner rather than later, might as well fuck who you wanna. Clans were stricter, some older members straight up homophobic. The civilians were the worst, wrapped up in heternomative societal norms and traditions. There were pockets of LGBT friendly areas, but they weren’t advertised to the public or even protected. (In fact it had taken  _ forever _ to find them. And he never actually went in, because it was a place for civilians. He supposes he just wanted to know if they existed at all.)

The Third Great Shinobi War ended when he was ten, and those two years of active duty had been completely and utterly traumatizing and an amazing incentive to begin pursuing something else entirely. Healing. Utilizing his stellar chakra control and intellect, Toshiro went above and beyond the education of the average Medic Nin within four years, and it’s been a year of working in the hospital. As a Chuunin, he’s able to be a doctor all on his own  _ after _ a mandatory observational period. 

Which was over now, one year after officially beginning work at the hospital  _ not _ as an intern-slash-student. So.

Fifteen.

And a Doctor. Of sorts.  _ Medic Nin, _ technically. 

In that year, he’d taken one look at the shambles the hospital had fallen into while attempting to pick itself back up after  _ a fucking war _ and the  _ desertion _ of the infamous Senju Tsunade (say what you want, it was a fucking desertion, and the only reason she wasn’t being hunted like the _ missing nin she technically is _ was because their esteemed hokage was a man with a weak will and selfish sympathy), and thought,  _ Oh no, this won’t do. _

Now he’s basically running the Shinobi Trauma Ward. And has an office. It’s all very fancy and official. He breathes hospital air and sleeps more at his desk than in his own bed. It’s during one such impromptu nap that there’s a knock on his door. And everyone knows it’s his nap time, because he’d posted a little note on his door saying  _ FUCK OFF _ , all caps and underlined and everything, which means something really fucking bad is happening. 

“Come in.” He grumbles, voice heavy with sleep. He pulls a paper off his check, sure that there will be lines on his face from the sleeping position.

The door opens, revealing a mousy looking woman with deep brown hair and eyes, her mouth set in a grim line. Tsutomu Hanako, 27, Shinobi Trauma Team Member for six years and one of the few not pissed about the fact that a fifteen year old boy was running the department.

“Sorry,” she says, and she even looks it for a moment, “We need you out here.”

Toshiro heaves himself up, “Alright, what’s the damage.”

“ANBU Unit of six, two with minor injuries, three with major and one in critical condition.” Hanako explains as they briskly walk down the halls. They’re lucky it’s not a busy night.

The great thing about the Trauma Team? They’re all professionals. With brains. Before Senju-sama reinvented the Hospital system, the medical profession was basically a joke. It was Konoha’s weakest point because almost all efforts were poured into the offensive front.  _ Team work, battle, hit fast and make it last! _ That was how Konoha nin rolled, until Tsunade pulled everyone’s head out of their asses and said,  _ Hey, maybe not so many people would fuckin’ die if we actually learned how to put on a bandaid. _

She had changed the game. Then left. Which was really the only thing Toshiro was mad about. Because it left a bunch of semi-competent people scrambling for order, with only like, five people who actually  _ knew everything they needed to. _ Konoha was not as old as everyone liked to think. All these kids running around? Clueless. Did they even realize the walls around them hadn’t even hit a hundred years old yet?  _ People from the First Great Shinobi War were still around. _ (Which was amazing in itself, surviving three fucking wars, even if they’d been too old to fight in the most recent one.)

The hospital was desperate for Medic Nin. 

First and foremost, it was seen as both civilian and  _ women’s _ work. Thanks, sexism. Secondly, ninja were  _ never actively encouraged to pursue healing as a learning subject.  _ Toshiro remembered quite clearly that, in the four years he’d attended the academy, the focus was heavy Konoha propaganda that verged on brainwashing, battle tactics, and fighting. Shinobi were expected to harm, to bleed and to kill. The hospital struggled because the amount of Medic Nin was completely overwhelmed by the amount of civilian doctors. 

Doctors which  _ couldn’t heal shinobi. _ At least, not traumatized, moderate to severely injured shinobi. To protect the civilian doctors from the panic and pain-fueled instincts of an injured shinobi, only Medic Nin could see them. And ANBU or Hunter Nin? Forget it! Medic Nin or no one. Regretfully, there have already been multiple incidents of civilian doctors getting hurt — from nasty cuts to near-strangulation — because, as previously stated,  _ there weren’t enough Medic Nin. _ Brave souls, those civilian doctors. Some of them, anyway.

Tsunade had been close, though. Her appeal to have one Medic Nin per team was not only ingenious, it would have also lowered the casualty rate substantially. Unfortunately, the Council was made up of a bunch of  _ shit heads. _ For most of those old, tradition-obsessed  _ fools, _ being a healer was equivalent to being weak. Tsunade broke the mold by being a frontline medic, but not the ingrained stigma. One day they’ll learn that just because you stayed at the rear,  _ just because you didn’t jump before looking, _ didn’t mean you couldn’t defend yourself. And that Tsunade’s capability to kill and heal was not an individual trait. 

They arrive at the main entrance, which is a flurry of activity. The hospital is really,  _ really _ badly designed in the way that there are no secret entrances for ANBU, no separate waiting rooms for ninja and civilians, no fucking  _ privacy _ for ninja coming in, screaming in pain with possible missing limbs or any other ailment. The amount of civilians who came to the hospital to be healed only to walk away traumatized by the sight of a near-feral jounin gripping where his leg used to be and screaming was astronomical. (Injury varied, though. There weren’t as many legless shinobi as implied. Really.)

Toshiro takes a deep breath and pretends he didn’t just get this promotion last month.  _ Prioritize, prioritize, prioritize.  _ “Ueno-san, the two with minor injuries. Yokoharu-san, Ito-san, Gedou-san, pick an ANBU, pick a team.” He barks out the orders, projecting his voice above the rabble. The four Medic Nin immediately set to work, stretchers brought in and younger Medic Apprentices called over for assistance. 

There’s already a man on one of the stretchers.  _ The critical one. _ “Tsutomu-san, with me.” He says, heading right for the man, who looks unconscious. Maybe not.

“Inu.” For the mask can mean no one else. Toshiro has never personally attended to the man, but the guy has been in the hospital  _ a lot. _ And never for long, no matter the injury. He was the bane of every Medic Nin’s existence. 

There’s only a grunt in response, the entire man’s body trembling and taut as a bowstring. Toshiro is already moving. With Hanako, he pushes the stretcher at lightning speed down the hall to the first OR available. There’s blood. A lot of it. Toshiro eyes the man’s body as they walk with squinted, rosy eyes.  _ Eight lacerations, at least. Possible poisoning. Probable concussion. Broken arm. Likely to be other broken bones. Ribs at risk.  _

“Inu,” he says when they’re tucked in a room, two other medical attendees following them in. He keeps his voice controlled and authoritative, a trait he’d picked up first as a nine year old on the battlefield, then as one of the only male shinobi trying to fight his way into the hospital. Yukimura-sensei was a harsh teacher. Also a godsend. “If you are able to respond, do so. You’re safe, we’re in Konoha. I’m going to perform the Diagnostic Jutsu. If you attack me I will be very displeased.”

Another grunt, but at least the man doesn’t look like he’s going to be moving any time soon. Toshiro’s hands light up with chakra, and he begins.

* * *

“I hope you aren’t thinking of sneaking out that window.” Toshiro’s voice is authoritative enough to give the man pause from his attempted escape — one leg dangling out the window.  _ Fucking ANBU. _

There’s no response. 

Toshiro sighs and shuts the door behind him. The ANBU’s shoulders seem to slump a little when he realizes Toshiro isn’t leaving. “Get inside.”

Slowly,  _ painfully, _ the man hefts himself back into the room and stands beside the hospital bed. Toshiro watches with dispassionate eyes. Whatever pain Inu is feeling was brought on by his own stupidity.

“You realize you’ve been here a total of two days.” He begins, walking closer and ignoring the tensing of the man’s shoulders. “You’ve only recently woken up, and while the Mystical Palm Technique is excellent at sealing wounds and purging poison, it can’t replenish your chakra. Of which you are currently severely lacking.”

“...It is sufficient.” Comes the whisper, not even dulled by the mask. God, what Toshiro wouldn’t  _ give _ to get a look at the seals they used.

“Out of the two of us, who is the medical professional?” The question is redundant, of course, so he bulldozes forward without waiting for a response. “It’s not sufficient. What you need is rest. And another round of treatment.  _ No soldier pills. _ ”

The ANBU looks very… awkward. It’s late afternoon, the sun just beginning to slip under the treeline visible from the open window. Orange-tinted rays turn the white room into peach and spun-gold, the gray of the man’s hair aglow like a flame. He holds himself tensely, likely from pain but also from something else. Inu isn’t bulky. He’s lean muscle, skin yellow with bruises and pink with new and old scars, the hospital clothes hang shapelessly off his frame (they’d taken everything but the ceramic mask, his ANBU uniform taken away just last night). He looks, surprisingly… young. Even if he is a good five inches taller than Toshiro. 

Spinning these details through his brain for a second, Toshiro comes to the conclusion that the guy probably isn’t much older than him. (Operating on the guy had at least told Toshiro that Inu was young, maybe twenties. Maybe younger.) So. Definitely socially and emotionally stunted, like every child soldier the Third War churned out.

Toshiro doesn’t know Inu’s actual name or face. He didn’t ask and he didn’t look. Inu is an ANBU, so it’s expected. Medical history is rarely shared, almost never stored. (Another disaster that needs to be sorted.) Allergies? Not always something they can get out of a patient if they’re badly injured and incoherent. Running on luck is  _ not _ how Toshiro wants to run a hospital.

_ Is that the plan? _ He hums to himself.  _ Hospital takeover? _

“Get back in bed.” He orders after another silence. 

Inu sits.

Toshiro very painfully refrains from saying  _ Good boy. _ Heh. Dog puns.

The ANBU is quiet and stiff as Toshiro passes chakra heavy hands over his body, checking the rate of recovery and status of his current ailments. Inu could run and be out of here before Toshiro even blinks. He’s not stupid. He knows the man far outclasses him in skill. Toshiro has always known that while he can hold his own, his fighting capabilities will never be S class like they were required to be for Black Ops. So it says something that Inu decided to stay.  _ Social awkwardness, definitely. _

“The poison didn’t leave any lasting effects.” He says in the silence, the sky shifting into sunset hues. Inu’s hair shines pink and gold. “Your concussion is… nearly healed. You may still feel nauseous, so if you end up needing to puke, you know where the bathroom is.” 

Inu’s body language doesn’t give much away. He’s still coiled like a spring and doing the exact opposite of what he should be — which is relaxing. Ninja are the absolute  _ worst _ patients. Toshiro frowns.

“Get some sleep, Inu.” He says, and hopes it sounds like an order. “We both know I can’t stop you from leaving, but you’re not cleared for duty so sleeping here won’t be any different from sleeping at home. At least here you’ll have access to medical attention if something crops up.”

There’s another long, quiet moment — then Inu settles back, pulling himself fully onto the bed and under the covers with heavy reluctance and painful slowness. Something like a huff can be heard, barely more than an exhale. “Yes, sensei.”

It’s drawled, though the tenor of the man’s voice is still way too...soldier-like. Still, the hint of exasperation from behind the mask is both a relief and mildly telling of Inu’s age. Toshiro nods shortly, flashing a tired smile and hoping the deep bags under his rosy eyes aren’t too terrifying. It’s a little refreshing to be taken seriously. The world was aware of freaky genius children with abilities far beyond their years — that didn’t mean people liked being bossed around by someone younger than them. Toshiro still dealt with shinobi who assumed him to be some child playing doctor rather than the Head of the Shinobi Trauma Ward. 

“Aikawa Toshiro.” He introduces, realizing belatedly how impolite he had been in not doing it upon entering the room. “You know the drill. Seal at the bedside if you need a nurse, they’ll grab me if you want me.”

Predictably, Inu does not return the introduction. (Toshiro expects nothing less.)

* * *

Toshiro takes a lot of notes. He fills notebooks upon notebooks with potential ideas for the future, plans to improve the hospital system and maybe even throw the entire village into political upheaval. (Those notes were more like 3 am delusions after not sleeping for three days straight.) He doesn’t know what kind of person he’d be if he didn’t have the maturity and early clarity of a previous life backing him, so he’s thankful for it at times like these.

“I understand your concerns, Aikawa-sensei.” The hospital director is a gaunt, pale woman with gray-streaked black hair and piercing silver eyes. They have something of a reluctant partnership, because she sees him as a wild and revolutionary, which is dangerous in a shinobi village. 

“Do you?” He quips, sitting across from her in the uncomfortable little chair provided. His legs are crossed, notebook open on one knee and fingers absently tracing the sentences inscribed there. “Then you agree with the motions I’m putting forward?”

Aoyama-sensei’s office is sparse and white, like the rest of the hospital. She probably spends just as much time as he does here, if not more, but there’s no personal touches anywhere aside from a little plant on her desk. Toshiro’s office is filled with too many notebooks, filing cabinets, about fifteen plants, a futon and an assortment of knick-knacks he’d squirreled away over time. 

He likes shiny things.

Aoyama-sensei pinches the bridge of her nose. “We don’t have the funding, Aikawa-sensei. Don’t protest — I agree with you. The hospital could desperately use some remodeling, both for updates and for easier… handling of patients. It means nothing when the Council denies us at every turn! We had to struggle for the funding we manage to receive already.”

Toshiro purses his lips. “If I show them my plans?”

Aoyama-sensei raises her brows, face marred with slight exasperation. “I’m sure some of them would appreciate the benefit that would come with it, others would laugh in your face. They are not willing to spend money if they do not have to.”

“Then I’ll make them see that  _ they have to,” _ he declares, “How else do they expect a village to prosper if they do not allow it to grow? Aren’t plant metaphors Konoha’s thing?”

She offers a quaint smile, “I will express your… plans to my greatest ability.”

Toshiro sighs, “No way I can do it myself?”

“You know that won’t happen.” She murmurs, just a hint of remorse in her tone, “Not until you take my job, that is.”

“Oh?” He grins, pretending he’s not feeling the weight of her first words pressing on his chest. Konoha, for all its claims about being a peaceful place for the people, tended to choke out the voices of their population. If you had no clan, you weren’t seen. If you had no power or reputation, you weren’t heard. He was a clanless orphan who lived in the same one-bedroom apartment he’d been gifted as a four year old. He’d made no waves in the war, had no special ability or skill to attract attention. No, Aikawa Toshiro was just a guy living his second life, throwing caution to the wind and setting his sights on changing the world for the better. Might as well, right? 

( _He thinks of eight year old bodies lined up, mutilated and staring unseeingly into the abyss of a dark sky. He’d only been carrying two body scrolls. How do you choose which child to bring back? Which to leave alone in the forest, left in the carnage and rot?_ _Logic._ _Clan kids had higher importance. He hated it._ _Hated it, hated the bitter feeling of leaving two kids behind, taking the corpse of his sensei and the corpse of an eight year old Inuzuka with him. What made them better than the other one? The clanless kid who deserved just as much, just not in the eyes of the elite? There’s some measure of vindication, knowing a clanless kid like him had been the only one to survive, even if the other had fallen. It’s a poisonous, regretful thought, because none of them had deserved to die._ )

“Don’t act smug,” She interrupts his thoughts, “You’re not ignorant enough to  _ not  _ know you’re the most considered replacement, you only lack experience and age. It’s why I can’t finally retire. A few more years under your belt, and this damn office is all yours, kid.”

“I’m gonna tear them apart.” Is what he settles on, not sure what expression he’s conveying, though his lips have pulled into some semblance of a smile.

Aoyama-sensei matches him, her own grin unrepentant and sharp, making her  _ look _ like the shinobi people sometimes forget she is. “I’m counting on it.”

* * *

“Inu.” He says, very little inflection in his voice. He’s not surprised to see the ANBU. This is a hospital and the man is a ninja. “What a relief, you’re not not critically injured this time. Might even get away with leaving tonight.”

If Inu cares for Toshiro’s dry tone, he says nothing of it. Still, Toshiro feels like the ANBU’s eyes are on him, peering from behind that painted, ceramic mask. Toshiro doesn’t take the silence personally. 

They’re lucky enough that the night is slow once more, and the ANBU team that shows up isn’t very injured — and only three of them are even here, which speaks for the success of the mission because ANBU squads generally contain six members. (At least, that’s what Toshiro has observed.) Maybe it’s sensitive information, maybe it’s not. Either way,  _ a separate entrance for shinobi would help keep away gossip and rumors spread by curious civilians. _

A Council meeting is taking place today, and Toshiro feels like his heart is about to leap from his chest with how much anxiety he’s feeling. If Aoyama-sensei plays her cards right — well,  _ his  _ cards, but same thing — then maybe some change would be heading their way soon. He’s trying very hard not to get his hopes up, because she’d been right the other day. The Council would burst out laughing at the  _ audacity _ of a clanless, fifteen-year-old  _ Medic Nin’s _ proposal. Especially when it included them spending money where they didn’t want to. 

_ With the amount of money they put into their shinobi forces, you’d think the education system would be better and the kunai would be gold-plated. _

“Aikawa-sensei.” Inu finally replies in a stilted greeting, and Toshiro is actually a little surprised the man remembered his name.

“You can walk, right? Follow me and I’ll fix up that arm for you.” Toshiro moves away from the desk area, heading straight down the hall to the nearest free room. If it weren’t for the fact that the ANBU wasn’t hiding his chakra, Toshiro wouldn’t have even noticed the man following him. Moving silently isn’t a skill only the Elite know, Toshiro is pretty good at it himself, but Inu seems to take it to a whole new level, erasing his very  _ presence. _ Toshiro doesn’t even feel the weight of eyes on him, even though he knows he’s being watched.

Inu lets him disinfect and stitch up the wound down his forearm without a single complaint. Not even a wince. Not unusual, but sad. Very...sad. With his glove and forearm protector off, Toshiro is left looking at an arm not only baring the freshly stitched wound, but the marks of many previous scars. A hand and wrist covered in… lightning burns. Very telling. Either Inu has a lightning chakra nature, or had a bad run in with a lightning jutsu. Judging by the fork-in-a-socket look Inu’s hair pulls off, Toshiro is pretty sure it was the man’s chakra nature.

He runs a chakra coated hand over the wound, sealing up the worst of it. “No poison detected, the stitches will dissolve in two days. Try not to get them wet — sorry, you probably know all this.” There’s a bit of a joke in there, “Seeing as this is your favorite place in the village.”

Inu twitches a little, the subtlest roll of shoulder muscles. “I’m not entirely medically incompetent.”

“Oh ho?” Toshiro raises a brow. “I’ll believe it when I see it, flight-risk.”

He pretends he doesn’t hear the man exhale in a way that sounds close to a laugh. There’s still too much tension in Inu’s body for humor. Toshiro wonders if the other knows the meaning of the word  _ relax. _

“Go home.” He finally says, releasing the man’s arm with another cursory glance. “You’re taking up space.”

The man is gone within the next blink.

* * *

Bad news, the Council remains filled with dipshits who get their rocks off on sabotaging the livelihoods of future generations. His proposal (delivered through Aoyama-sensei’s mouth) is rejected. It’s not surprising, not really. But it smarts a bit. Turns out he’d held a little more hope in this endeavor than he’d realized.

So he stews in his thoughts and makes a few more lists out of stress, reorders all his cabinets  _ again,  _ then goes out and buys a cute little mint plant to sit next to the little cactus he’d gotten last month, imported from Suna. It grinds his gears, but he can wait. He’s only fifteen.

In a world that uses children as cannon fodder.

Ok, so many he’s more pissed than he lets on, but that’s not surprising. He never shows the full scope of his emotions. It’s better that way. Easier to not get attached or have people get attached to you. A habit he still hasn’t broken out of, even five years after the war. Guess the trauma is a little more deep-rooted than anticipated, mature mind or not. 

He thinks he’s forgotten how to… accept being lonely.  _ Admitting  _ it. He’s gone a bit numb, frankly speaking.

_ Speaking of… _

He makes another note on a stray piece of paper. 

_ MENTAL HEALTH. YAMANAKA??? _

The words are swiftly underlined twice, and he puts the note next to his new mint plant. Hopefully he won’t forget it.

In other news — not good, not bad, just…  _ news _ — Inu’s mission return schedule seems to suddenly line up with Toshiro’s shifts. It feels like he always ends up patching up the man, unless another shinobi is critically injured, and it’s gotten to the point where Toshiro almost feels like the man is seeking him out.

_ Well, _ he thinks,  _ I suppose he just trusts me a little more. Maybe? _

Get patched up by the same face every time and you’re bound to be Pavlov’d. It could be a lot of things, actually. His age, for one. Child genius finding comfort in another ‘supposed’ child genius. Because Toshiro was very obviously  _ fifteen _ and very obviously  _ in charge. _ Stunted kids related more to stunted kids. Loathe as he is to admit his own faulty mental health, a childhood in Konoha  _ fucked him up. _ Like, a lot.

“You know,” he murmurs one day, hands coated in Inu’s blood and shining with healing chakra. “You keep showing up here and I might start thinkin’ ya like me.”

The slice isn’t too terrible, but it must be painful, feeling the flesh of your leg knit itself together. Sage knows no self-respecting ninja would take painkillers fresh off a mission. Idiots.

He almost misses the weak laugh.

It’s an odd sound, it almost sounds distorted; except Toshiro knows by now that those ANBU masks somehow let voices be heard clear as day. After a moment he comes to the realization that it's probably because Inu has forgotten how to laugh, so the sound is heavy with discomfort and shock, perhaps at his own slip up.

So he says nothing, and neither does Inu.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> toshiro - 15  
> inu/kakashi - 19


	2. setting roots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOWOW IM ASTONISHED AT THE RECEPTION THIS FIC GOT!!! I'm glad you like Toshiro and the concept I'm playing around with! Just a short warning: This fic is told SNIPPET STYLE, so there's some time-skips that pop up pretty often. Watch out for those!

“You’re turning sixteen soon, right?” 

Toshiro looks up from his desk, squinting at the figure who’d popped their head into his office. There are ink stains on his fingers and his hands have long since cramped. The motion of sitting up cracks his back and he winces. “Huh?”

Hanako presses her lips together, clearly unimpressed. “When’s the last time you slept, Aikawa-sensei?”

A headache pulses behind his eyes. “Uh, tuesday?”

“It’s friday.”

Ok, she doesn’t look happy. That’s fair.

“Oh,” he murmurs, “Is that so.”

“Go to sleep.” She says, firm and motherly — though she’d kill him if he said so. (27 isn’t OLD!) “You’ve been working a disgusting amount of overtime, and the hospital can last a few hours without you.”

“That’s debatable.” He mutters, not unkindly. Still, he heaves himself up from his desk, wobbling as he does. Guess he’s more exhausted than he assumed. Trudging over to the futon next to his desk, he flops onto it without much grace, sprawling out limbs and shutting his eyes almost immediately. What kind of Medic-Nin is he, anyway? He knows firsthand the dangers of exhaustion. 

“Yes, by the way,” He speaks up before Hanako’s chakra leaves the doorway. “I’ll be sixteen next week.”

She makes a humming sound and shuts the door.

He sleeps.

* * *

What he needed was probably twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep. What he got was maybe four hours and three shots of bitter espresso. It tastes like ass. He’s never been one for coffee, it smells pleasant enough but the taste leaves much to be desired. Maybe it’s ‘cause he’s a sweet tooth. 

His hair’s a little longer than it was three months ago, shaggy around his neck and ears. Nowhere near long enough for him to tie back, but still a little bothersome. He settles for a headband, tucking strands of ashy blond away from his eyes and forehead. It’s pink, bordering on red, because fuck gender stereotypes. Also, it matches with his eyes a bit — and serves to be the only spot of color in his current wardrobe. The Medic Nin uniform is slate gray and drab, but sturdy and made with shinobi grade fabric. It’s ideal for protecting doctors from potential stabs, blood and poison exposure.

Easy to wash, too.

“Sorry you couldn’t sleep longer.” It’s Gedou-san who interrupts him this time, a stout woman with obvious muscle tone and a glint in her purple eyes from fighting two shinobi wars. She’s older, probably fifty or so. Her hair is dirty blond with no hint of gray, though wrinkles of stress line her face, as well as the occasional scar. 

She doesn’t sound particularly apologetic, because duty is duty. He understands.

“Dying nin wait for no man. Or woman.” He cracks a grin, though it settles on his lips like a smirk. His headache almost feels worse than it had before he’d gotten four hours. He _really_ needs a full night's rest. At this point, he’s probably not even good to perform surgery, and it’s no fault but his own. 

He’d just gotten… distracted. Overwhelmed. There was so much to do and too many walls to hop to do it all. At this rate, he’ll go gray within a year. Or keel over dead.

_Or get assassinated._

Thoughts like that are treasonous...but...what Konoha doesn’t know won’t hurt them. Or make them hurt _him._

It’s the ANBU again. Again, not shocking. They’re a well-used resource, as awful as that sounds. He can never _really_ tell if it’s the same unit with the same people, because he’s not sure about the whole Mask policy, but he does recognize a cat-masked fellow with long brown hair — what a potential risk, honestly! — and a really, really small ANBU with a mask painted to look like… some tiny weasel-like creature. Probably. This kid looked… tiny. Like, fresh out of the academy during _wartime_ tiny, which was mildly worrying because Toshiro had really hoped that the age for peacetime graduation would _stay_ at _twelve_. 

But it was not unexpected. 

Konoha took what Konoha wanted, and child geniuses were a cultivated luxury. 

The sight of those two meant that Inu was here. If Toshiro was pressed, he’d admit he believed the three of them to be on the same squad. Of course, as a shinobi, if he was ever _actually_ pressed for information he’d die. Because revealing information was not acceptable even under torture, so he’d have to hope the torturer would end it quickly.

Off topic. God, he needed sleep.

Toshiro took a look at the kid, inspecting him for injuries. No one seemed particularly injured, but they were all terribly, horribly tense. 

“He’s in room four.” Hanako says, looking up from where she’s running the Diagnostic Jutsu over Neko. Gedou-san brushes by him and begins fussing over the tiny ANBU like he’s a wayward duckling. 

“Ah.” Toshiro says, because who else would come back critically injured? He rushes to room four, throwing the doors open and immediately sending chakra to his hands. Inu is writhing on the stretcher, three medical attendees holding him down as he thrashes. 

“Report!” He barks, grabbing the attention of the three.

“Severe poisoning, broken femur, left forearm crushed, burns covering eighty percent of right hand, extreme signs of chakra exhaustion!” The one at Inu’s left replies swiftly, their hand bright green and the other struggling to hold one of Inu’s arms down. 

Toshiro strides forward and puts his hand on Inu’s mask, turning the man’s head to face him. The other he places on the mop of sweat-damp, bloody silver hair, pressing until he feels scalp. “Sleep.” He commands, and sends chakra straight from his hand into the man’s head.

The tension in Inu’s body releases like a cut cord, and he stills, limp and loose. Unconscious at last. They set to work.

Toshiro slips on new gloves, puts a safety mask over his face and follows every sanitation protocol. He identifies the poison, but the strain is a mutated version that’s likely just hit the market — he recognizes some of the ingredients. They’re native to Kiri, which could give a lot of hints as to where a supposedly _covert, top-secret_ mission took place. 

He swears every Medical Employee under him to secrecy, regardless of their knowledge on where the wounds came from. Though on a time crunch, he manages to formulate the _new_ antidote while they hold off the worst of Inu’s pain using an antidote for the _regular_ strain. He leaves the others to heal the bones and burns.

Inu will be laid up for a while, however. The severe lack of the man’s chakra is worrying, and the poison wasn’t doing any favors, even after administering the correct antidote. The man’s body desperately needed rest and recuperation. Chakra was a person’s _life force,_ which is why it irked Toshiro greatly when ninja thought it wasn’t a big deal. People literally die from overuse. 

Children _die_ from performing jutsu too consuming for their reserves. It wasn’t funny and it certainly wasn’t something to scoff at. (And the stigma that smaller reserves made you weak was _bullshit._ It didn’t matter how much you had, it matters how you _use it._ )

The lightning scars on Inu’s hand are worse, vivid and stark white against already pale skin. Toshiro wonders at the point of such a self-destructive jutsu. When all is said and done, it’s been another thirty-six hours and Toshiro is beginning to see double, but Inu is all bandaged up and stable in his hospital room, peacefully sleeping in that professional killer way of his — meaning he somehow managed to look tense even when relaxed.

So Toshiro took the opportunity to pass out.

Which, in hindsight, wasn’t a great idea. But it’s not like he could control it!

Waking up in a hospital bed of his own is darkly ironic, but at least he feels a million times better. There’s a change of clothes by the bed, so after taking out the IV drip in his arm he moves to the attached bathroom and showers. Showering the grime of a few days off his body feels amazing — even more so after a great rest. 

The bags under his rosy eyes have all but vanished. He pokes at his cheeks while peering at his reflection in the steamed-up mirror. Funnily enough, the whole ‘new appearance’ thing was pretty easy to deal with. Memories of his old life had become faded, feeling less like actual memories and more like helpful hints and instinct to help navigate this life. 

And it’s not like he’s gonna be mad about having a pretty face, now is he?

“Aikawa-sensei, how are you feeling?”

When he re-enters the hospital room in fresh clothes, a towel scrubbing at wet hair, he finds Hanako waiting for him.

“Great.” He says, letting the towel drape around his neck. Damp strands of hair brush his forehead and temples. “How long was I out, and am I in trouble?”

A hint of a smile flashes across her mouth at his childish way of asking for his consequences. “About a day, sensei. It’s currently monday morning and no, you aren’t _in trouble.”_

“Huh,” he says, mildly surprised. “Well that’s good.”

“It’s not unexpected to collapse after long hours, especially after multiple surgeries. That’s not to say, however, that we aren’t concerned for your health.”

Toshiro grimaces, but tries to twist the expression into something lighter. “Right. Sorry.”

“You’re going to be running this place one day,” Hanako reminds him, and he can’t hide his shock at her easy acceptance of the fact, “So please try to take care of yourself. Sleep schedules exist for a reason.”

“Sleeping just wastes so much time!” He whines, acting his physical age for a second. “Think of what we could get done if we didn’t have to be unconscious for a third of our lives!”

“I suppose we’ll never know, will we.” Hanako raises a sharp eyebrow. He doesn’t know how she manages to turn her mousey appearance into that of a lion. 

He purses his lips before sighing heavily. “No, I suppose we won’t.”

A note is written on his desk in bold letters, taped down so he doesn’t lose it.

_REMEMBER TO SLEEP, IDIOT._

* * *

Toshiro’s fridge still hums a little too loudly. It works, so he doesn’t bother replacing it. Seeing as most of his life is spent at the hospital, his poor little fridge remains consistently sparse or empty, as almost all he eats is the crappy nutrition-based hospital food or take-out. So when he has a day off, he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Apparently it’s come to the attention of senior staff — AKA Aoyama-sensei — just _how much_ he’d really been working. The hospital may be understaffed, but they’d prefer to keep their workers _alive,_ thank you very much. So. 

His schedule has changed a bit. It goes a little something like this:

Monday, 8AM to 6PM. Tuesday, 8AM to Wednesday at 8AM. Thursday, 12PM to 12AM - technically friday morning. He then had Friday off. Saturday was a short shift of six hours, the timing would vary week by week. Sunday he had off as well.

All in all, about a fifty-two hour work week. A _scheduled_ fifty-two hours. It would rarely run that smoothly. For one, some surgeries could take hours longer than his shift, or he could literally have a half-hour left of one, then get a patient requiring twenty-four hour care. He’d be compensated, of course. Shifts had to be fluid at the hospital, if he worked past one shift all the way into the next one because of extenuating circumstances, he was required to take off eight hours to sleep, ignoring the schedule. 

The employees couldn’t be put at risk. As much as they needed help and as much as it was the duty of Medic Nin to _provide_ help, it would be impossible if they didn’t take care of themselves first. (Even if he was technically on call 24/7, being one of the most skilled Medic’s Konoha currently had.)

So, it’s Friday. 9AM.

He’s hungry.

Scratch that, he’s starving after the shift he had last night. There’s not a single thing in his fridge, which he’ll have to fix now that he’ll likely be spending a _bit_ more time at home. He’s got the money to buy groceries. He can also _count_ the number of times he’s actually done such a mundane task.

Boy, did he have a lot to say about Konoha’s thought process on letting four year olds figure out how to take care of themselves. He’s lucky he had a head full of past memories, or he’d surely have burned himself on the stove, fallen from stools or counters, drowned in the tub — the list of dangers were endless.

Toshiro slips on the standard, dark navy ninja slacks, leaving the hems untaped and loose around his ankles. He eyes his chuunin vest but doesn’t put it on, intent on relaxing, and instead of the shinobi grade, navy long-sleeve shirt, he picks out a simple cotton tee. It’s much softer on the skin. And thinner, which he prefers at the moment because the summers in Konoha are _blistering_ hot. It’s disgusting. 

He only owns various pairs of shinobi sandals, so he puts on a pair that look relatively lived-in and makes his way out the door, wallet in one pocket, kunai in another. (This may be his home village, but he is a _shinobi,_ and shinobi are prepared or they are _dead._ )

The air is humid and heavy with the buzz of insects. He has to squint against the light when he steps out of his apartment. Konoha is built in a way that seems impossible, the buildings growing in and out of each other. As the population expanded, they’d had to grow. Upwards, that is. Apartment buildings were all at least six stories high, slap-dashed together like pieces of different puzzles. You could visibly see where new levels had been added to some buildings, either they were made with different materials or they seemed to hang over the edge of the first level, propped with support beams. It was charming, in a rustic way. But if you wanted a yard, you had to be rich or live in a Clan compound.

Toshiro has only ever been in one; the Inuzuka Compound. To return a body. That was years ago now, but he recalls quite clearly how it was almost its own village _within_ the village. Clans had _private forests,_ while every other schmuck lived in a mix-n’-match building, left only with flower boxes hanging out windows or rooftop gardens. 

Not that he was particularly bitter, because in most cases the contribution of a Clan was worthy of the reward. Toshiro had a soft spot for the Ino-Shika-Cho clan trio, the three of them had the _best_ businesses, departments and research facilities. He was on good terms with more than a few Nara, had tea on occasion with Yamanaka Inoka while discussing world domination, and the Akimichi restaurants had been the reason he even survived childhood. (One day he’ll learn to cook...one day.)

Toshiro weaves in and out of the busy streets, dust kicked up under his sandals. He feels sweat building at the back of his neck already. Children run by, dirt on their knees and laughter falling from their lips. He takes a deep breath and is hit with the wild scents of the market. It’s loud and stifling, but he works at the hospital and nothing is more overstimulating than thirty-six hours of non-stop surgery requiring all his focus.

He’s at the fruit stall, the seller speaking jovially to some other customer after greeting him with a _‘welcome, shinobi-san!’,_ to which Toshiro could only nod. He’s not wearing his hitai-ate, but these civilians have lived their whole lives around ninja, they know how to spot the differences when a shinobi isn’t hiding. And Toshiro is doing nothing to hide the scars on his visible arms, nor is there any way to hide the ghost of war haunting his every step.

He leaves with six apples swinging in a bag.

Across the street is a man. About five inches taller. Silver hair sticking straight up like he’s been electrified. He’s strolling without a care in the world, dressed in all black and covered so fully that only his ankles, fingers and the top half of his head is visible. At first, Toshiro is only shocked that someone can even wear such an outfit in the heat — not without constantly regulating your temperature with chakra — then he understands exactly who he’s seeing.

Inu.

With no ceramic ANBU mask.

Inu, who knows that Toshiro sees him. Toshiro lets his gaze slide off the other man and resumes shopping. _What an idiot!_ He can’t help but think. _Who thinks they can keep their identity secret with hair like that?_

A second thought hits him sometime later, when he’s walking back from a completed shopping expedition, arms heavy with bags of food. (And if half of it is microwave meals, well, no one else has to know!) 

Inu is Hatake Kakashi.

* * *

Hatake Kakashi is a well known name in shinobi households. Son of the White Fang, student of the Yondaime (may he rest in peace), the kind of genius Konoha hasn’t seen in decades. They never went to the academy together. He’s quite sure the man became a genin before Toshiro had even been orphaned. That’s a lot of trauma.

Actually, it _really was._ Everything Toshiro knew about Hatake-san was...well, not great. Oh, he was an incredible ninja, there’s no doubt. But every person in his life died. Horribly. And he was a child soldier at like, _four._ Then never stopped. Fifteen or so years of fighting for a man only nineteen, if Toshiro’s math was correct.

There’s a very real chance that Hatake-san doesn’t realize that Toshiro knows he’s Inu. Though he’s loath to consider that a man like that could possibly think just putting a mask on his _already masked_ face would lend him any sense of anonymity. Not with that hair.

He doesn’t say anything.

Summer ends, as does fall. Winter brings a frigid chill and leaves him smacking icicles from his window and kicking his heating grate when it splutters.

Toshiro sees Inu in the hospital six times by the time winter hits.

Then nothing.

Months pass. Toshiro feels the barest hint of worry, and wonders why.

* * *

Inu stumbles into the hospital late spring, a month before Toshiro turns seventeen. The man has been gone for six months. He almost doesn’t notice the ANBU. It’s the start of his twelve hour Thursday shift and he’d slept in, so he’s still rubbing a bit of sleep from his eyes. 

“Aikawa-sensei.” The man greets, and Toshiro is momentarily shocked enough to only gape. The nurse at Hatake-san’s side looks flushed with frustration, like she’s been arguing. 

“Inu,” he finally says. “Welcome back.”

It doesn’t sound as sarcastic as he means it to.

The nurse — Yona? Yura? He can’t remember, she’s one of the new interns and he’s not technically responsible for her, since she’s not part of the Trauma unit — looks between them with some expression he can’t quite define. She then rolls her eyes to the ceiling and walks away. Toshiro doesn’t say anything, because that’s a frequent reaction most of the staff have when dealing with active shinobi.

“Ah.” Inu replies, stock-still and tense at the words, like he’s caught off guard. He’s clutching his left arm, which hangs limply at his side. The shoulder looks displaced and purpling, skin visible in the sleeveless ANBU get-up. “I’m….back.”

“...that needs to be looked at.”

Inu nods.

Toshiro waits, and when it looks like the man isn’t going to continue, he sighs. “Well, come on then.”

He doesn’t ask why the man didn’t just go with the nurse — who Toshiro at least knew was a former kunoichi, even if her name escaped him — when a dislocated shoulder wasn’t really…. Trauma Team worthy. Any Medic-Nin could treat an ANBU.

Inu follows silently, just a step behind. 

When they’re in an empty observation room, Toshiro runs a Diagnostic Jutsu over the ANBU just to be sure no other injuries are being hidden from him. _Ninja, remember?_ Luckily it’s just the shoulder, though Inu’s stamina is severely depleted. He needs a good night’s sleep and food, probably. 

“Okay…” He murmurs, glancing into the mask’s eye holes. “I’m gonna pop it back into place, alright?”

Inu nods and takes a deep breath. Toshiro floods the area with a bit of numbing chakra, reducing some of the swelling as he does. He doesn’t count.

With a sharp _POP_ the shoulder is back in place, and the crunch of bone against bone beneath his hand is unpleasant. Inu grunts. Toshiro puts both hands on the swollen red and purple flesh, the Mystical Palm Jutsu already active and healing the bruised, damaged muscles.

“So…” he says after a moment of silence, drawing Inu’s attention. “Have you ever thought about dying your hair?”

Inu snorts.

* * *

Yamanaka Inoka is a tall, willowy figure with pale blonde hair and azure eyes that lack noticeable pupils. Where Toshiro hovers at 5’5”, she towers over him at 6’ even, usually soaring even taller with wedged sandals. They make an odd pair, but she finds his blunt, driven demeanor refreshing and he finds her cunning, ambitious mind a helpful companion. If he had to name a person to call a friend, it would be her, even if he constantly tells himself he doesn’t actually have any.

They’re sipping tea at their usual haunt — Mayuri’s, green for him and jasmine for her — and discussing, as usual, plans for world domination. Sort of.

“I’ve run your idea by my cousin.” She says after a small sip, her razor-sharp fingernails tapping against the ceramic cup. They’re painted robin’s egg blue today to match the pretty cerulean and navy kimono she’s wearing, patterned with swirling waves and wisteria flowers.

There’s no negativity in her expression.

“He approves, then.” That’s good news.

Inoka smiles a bit like a shark. “He certainly does. He thinks your ideas have _potential_. Looks like all the work you’ve put into subtly improving the hospital and the education of everyone who works there is finally starting to pay off.”

Toshiro takes a sip of his tea to hide a grin. “Slow and steady wins the race.”

“Slow and steady brings results, and gives us enough time for those old coots on the Council to pass on already.” She corrects.

He snorts, trying to cover the bubble of laughter that chokes him. “So?”

“He wants to meet. If all goes well, the hospital will have the backing of the Yamanaka Clan. And what follows…” Inoka trails off.

“Will be two more clans.” He finishes.

Inoka hoists her cup towards his own in a loose attempt at a toast, “To your continued success, Sensei.”

The plan: Obtain the support of as many clans as possible. If the Council won’t provide resources, others could. If the hospital had the money, any plans for renovation could go through the Architectural Division, get approved by the Hokage — and bam. New Hospital. The Council couldn’t _limit_ the improvement of an already existing building, not when that building fell under the jurisdiction of someone on the Council — which is Aoyama-sensei, who’s the Hospital Director and therefore has a seat...and a say. That would mean they had the power to make decisions about things in every Council Member’s jurisdiction, which no one wanted because they were all either Clan Heads or greedy fucks, sometimes both. 

An alliance with the Yamanaka allowed for improved facilities for Mental Health, money, and a collaborative wealth of information to be shared. The Hospital had its own researchers, and only idiots and _Elites_ thought that only prodigies and Clan Members could ever make an impact on the scientific community.

Of course, the Nara and Akimichi would likely follow, and both Clans would exponentially aid in overthrowing the current Healthcare situation. Clan help would not only give him a solid backing, research opportunities, information sharing and resources, but also _allies_ . Allies that could help him navigate the political minefield that was Konoha. Not to mention all the legal shit like taxes and hospital fees — there were differences between what shinobi and civilians had to pay for housing, healthcare and materials. Konoha was a village made _by_ shinobi, _for_ shinobi, which left a big disconnect between the civilians and the people defending them. One that didn’t really help the rampant spread of prejudice, stereotypes and sometimes even fear.

Civilians were _soft._ Civilians were stupid and weak and bruised at the slightest touch, they held too much stake in material items and showed too much emotion.

Ninja were walls of stone. Feral animals. Dangerous and untouchable and made of serrated steel. They walked into the jaws of death, they killed with the hands that passed money to the local fruit vendor. 

The two didn’t mix. Not well. Not after decades of war and dissonance in a rapidly growing military state. The way things were going now? It would take _a lot_ for Konoha to become the best it could be. 

Like another war, and probably a civil one, with the way the Council acted. Their conservative natures only served to poison the very roots of the tree they so desperately wanted to preserve. (Or the tree they so desperately wanted personal resources from.)

“Next Wednesday at 5PM.” Inoka says when they leave, her hand gripping his elbow gently to stop him from going. “I’ll meet you at the Compound gates to escort you to the Main House.”

“Thanks,” Toshiro replies, and he really means it. He doesn’t think he would have gotten so far without her being his _in,_ “I’ll be there.”

“I know you will.” She laughs, “And I can’t _wait.”_

* * *

Hatake Kakashi carries himself differently when he’s not Inu. 

They meet on the street, this time eye contact is included. Kakashi strolls beside him as he shops, just a wedge of his face visible and not much gleaned from the apathetic look in the single dark gray eye. His shoulders are a little slouched, his hands in his pockets and an aura of perpetual boredom exuding from his lithe frame.

“Aikawa-sensei.” He greets, like this is something they do frequently.

“Hatake-san,” Toshiro responds in kind.

Kakashi winces. “I’d prefer if you didn’t call me that.”

“Kakashi-san, then.” Never let it be said that Toshiro isn’t a bit of a stickler for manners. He has to keep a _politically-oriented nice-guy reputation,_ which is absolutely dreadful, but hopefully being the spearhead of revolution will be worth it. “Not injured, are you?”

“No.”

“Good. It’s my day off.” 

They continue walking and Toshiro begins to wonder, as Kakashi follows him into stores and waits as he pauses at stalls, if the other man is lonely. What could Kakashi even do on his days off when practically everyone he loved was dead and his whole life had been mission after mission? What could drive the man to wander the streets and then stick to the first recognizable person he saw — someone like Toshiro, who was just a passing acquaintance — through something as mundane as grocery shopping?

 _Oh,_ he suddenly realizes, _It’s his birthday today, isn’t it?_

While Inu does not, Hatake Kakashi _does_ have a medical file. Toshiro has been working through a deplorable amount of paperwork regarding all the shinobi that serve Konoha, and he tends to keep the files of those he sees frequently… closer than others. And Kakashi is definitely in the hospital often. Everything from his birthday to his blood type is listed, so of course Toshiro has seen it. For medical reasons.

Toshiro wanders into a bakery. He doesn’t know what kind of sweets Kakashi likes, if the man even likes them at all. Or what allergies the man has. He frowns heavily and peers at the taller man discreetly. 

Kakashi stands like a silent shadow, still looking as bored as he did five seconds ago. His one eye trails around the room but never really settles on one thing. Toshiro decides to go with something plain. Vanilla cupcake. Chocolate frosting. The teenager at the register packages it in a cute little box, her cheeks cherry red when she speaks with him. When he smiles and thanks her, she tenses like she’s been shocked and he thinks he sees steam wafting from her ears. 

He leaves very quickly, mildly uncomfortable. Civilians are so...obvious with their attraction. He puts a hand to his cheek and furrows his brow in confusion, wondering exactly what she sees that makes her so attracted to him. _Does no one in Konoha have a working gaydar?_

“You’re pretty popular.” 

Toshiro glances sideways at Kakashi. “So are you.”

And that’s not a lie. Even with something like a sixth of his face visible, Kakashi managed to have a raging fan base among the civilian women who were charmed by his mysterious aura. Not to mention the subtle and not-so-subtle moon eyes kunoichi tended to make whenever he did something impressive. Like breathe. A few men, too. Though Toshiro wasn’t sure which team the other was batting for, if he was at all.

When they leave the Marketplace, Toshiro stalls. He doesn’t know how long Kakashi plans on following him around. (Or why, really.) The other man halts as well, turning just a tad in his direction. It still feels a little like they’re just strangers standing on the same street.

“Happy Birthday, Kakashi-san,” Toshiro says, and holds out the little box. “Please accept this.”

Toshiro bows slightly as he presents the gift, but flicks his gaze up quickly enough to catch the flash of surprise in the lone dark eye. They remain at a standstill for almost two minutes before Toshiro levels a _look_ at the man, displaying his thought of _hurry up and take it, dipshit,_ without actually speaking the words.

Kakashi takes it. “...thank you.”

“Do you not like vanilla?”

“I’m...not big on sweets.” Kakashi admits slowly, holding the box like he’s wondering whether or not it’s real. “But Vanilla is fine.”

“Ah. What do you prefer, then?” Toshiro asks, making a mental note. 

“...savory foods.” 

Toshiro thinks of the few places he trusts for good food. “Okay. I’ll remember that for next year.” He bows once more. “Please take care of yourself, flight-risk.”

Finally, _finally,_ Kakashi loses the tenseness to his shoulders and slouches again. His one eye creases slightly in the mockery of a smile. “Of course, Sensei. Goodnight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> toshiro - 17  
> inu/kakashi - 21  
> their relationship after 2 fucking years: ah, yes, u can call me kakashi btw


	3. sprouting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not a lot of kaka, but toshiro kicks a big ass hole in canon!

The Yamanaka Compound is closer to the central village than others. It makes sense, as the Yamanaka are probably one of the most integrated Clans in all of Konoha — on par with the Akimichi — due to their flower shops, tea shops, TI presence and general… kindness. The Ino-Shika-Cho Clan Trio were probably the most well-liked out of every other Clan residing in Konoha’s walls. The Uchiha left much to be desired with their excessively conservative ways, but frankly, Toshiro preferred them over the Hyuuga, who would seal away their own children and somehow thought segregating their own blood had...meaning.

Inoka waits at the gates, the walls enclosing the Compound built from well-kept wood and dripping with flowering vines. Seals no doubt lay below the flora, providing far more protection than one would ever expect a basic wooden wall to.

Her hair is tied up in a tight bun today and she’s traded her usual kimono for the standard jounin uniform. She flashes a smile when he stops before her. “Ready for war?”

He raises a brow at her choice of words, “ _You_ certainly look it.”

“I’ve got a mission later.” She shrugs. “Depending on how long this goes I’ll have to leave early. But you’re smart, even if that happens you’ll end up with friends here.”

“Your confidence in me is inspiring.” He murmurs, mouth quirked with humor.

Inoka scoffs, “Don’t smirk at me like that, you look like an albino Uchiha.”

He rolls his eyes and follows her to the Main House. Like expected, the Compound looks like a small village. The main street is lined with individual, spread out buildings and homes. Full yards and space to spare. The building aesthetic is classically japanese, sandalwood and sloping rooftops, sliding doors and cultivated gardens. Yamanaka children run after each other in the streets, safe under the eyes of countless family members, no matter how distantly related. 

Toshiro can see the appeal of a Clan. There’s a sense of...togetherness that Konoha as a whole lacks. He understands the need to have family traditions and some degree of separation, but shouldn’t Konoha feel more like a giant Clan? Konoha….the Clan, and every _actual_ clan just another family. A better comparison would be that Konoha should be as comfortable and connected with each other the way the Ino-Shika-Cho Clans are. 

A country couldn’t function if it wasn’t united.

* * *

He’s actually dressed nice. Since his life is consumed by his work, he doesn’t spend a lot of the money he earns. That means he’s got quite a bit of it saved up, enough to easily buy a few nice kimonos of varying levels of formality. Inoka advised him to wear something a little more formal than casual, because while the Yamanaka were not as steeped in tradition as other clans, Toshiro was still meeting with the Clan Head.

He’d settled on a kimono that began as a deep, carmine red before trailing into black, outlines of lotus flowers embroidered throughout in shimmering silver thread and his obi just as black as the kimono’s hem. A slate gray haori to top it off, and Toshiro was decked out nicer than he’s ever been before — and this isn’t even the most formal kimono he’d purchased! It feels really fancy. And heavy. Also flowy. There’s plenty of space to hide weapons, but also so much fabric that Toshiro feels like his movements would be heavily restricted in a fight.

At least he looks nice. Ash blond hair is long enough now to rest in a small ponytail at the base of his neck, and he’d very _artfully_ left out a few strands of hair to frame his face. A full night’s rest had taken care of the worst of the bags under his eyes, so he looks better than he has in weeks, new clothes aside. 

_Make a statement._

If only that didn’t have to rely so heavily on appearance. Toshiro tries to keep the frown off his face. Best not think about such things now, he has to focus on the upcoming conversation.

“Aikawa-sensei.” Yamanaka Inoichi is a tall man, though _tall_ is all a matter of perception to someone like Toshiro, who is 5’5” when he doesn’t slouch. Inoka is taller than her clan head, but Inoichi is broader, his hair a few shades darker and his face very square. He sits in a traditional seiza across a short table while their tea is poured and is dressed comfortably in a striped, deep purple kimono. His attire looks a little bit less formal than Toshiro’s own, but not enough to be a slight against the other.

Because apparently you can _offend_ Clan people by being better dressed than them during official meetings. The idea that clothing dictates your station in life is very bothersome, but not something Toshiro wants to be overly concerned with, as long as he can get the support he needs to overthrow the current system.

“Yamanaka-sama.” He greets in return, glad for the long hours of both shinobi and hospital life. Sitting in seiza is not his idea of fun, nor is it comfortable, but at least he can do it for far longer than expected of a clanless nobody. “Thank you for seeing me.”

“Of course,” The older man replies, a loose smile on his face. He picks up the cup of tea before him when the young Yamanaka attending them finishes pouring. She bows, tray pressed to her chest, then leaves, taking care to slide the doors shut behind her.

Toshiro takes a sip after Inoichi does, more nervous about being impolite than he is about doing what basically amounts to a school presentation. 

“Inoka says you’re only seventeen.” The Clan Head begins with small talk. 

The woman in question is sitting seiza in the corner to the right, behind Toshiro. It takes a bit more willpower than he likes to keep from turning to look at her. He doesn’t need to, he already has her support and he knows what he wants to say.

“Yes.”

“And a Chuunin?”

Toshiro nods, hands remaining curled around the warm cup. “Field promoted at ten, Yamanaka-sama.”

“No desire to pursue Jounin status?” The man inquires, and Toshiro can’t quite tell what kind of curiosity backs the question.

He chooses his next words carefully, having been a little less prepared to enter a more personal conversation. “I have no doubt that I could obtain such a promotion if I actively pursued it.” Because he’s not a quitter, and even if he’s not _S-Class ANBU_ material, that doesn’t mean he couldn’t make a decent Jounin. “But my current interests lie on a different path. If a promotion becomes necessary, then it’ll take precedence.”

Inoichi’s expression is quite open for someone peeling Toshiro apart with his eyes. The Yamanaka are masters of the mind, they pick people apart for a living — such scrutiny is discomforting, but Toshiro is accustomed to Inoka’s hawk-like gaze and confident that he’s not at risk of physical or mental harm within the Yamanaka Compound. The only thing potentially _at risk_ right now is his pride.

“Tell me about your interests, Aikawa-sensei,” Inoichi finally says, breaking the silence with a smile. This time it feels a bit more genuine. Toshiro is impressed, he hadn’t even realized the first one _wasn’t._

“I have many interests, Yamanaka-sama. The greatest being the evolution of Konoha.” Toshiro replies, “Rather than remain in stagnation, I believe there are numerous ways to improve Konoha and grow, and just because something is _sustainable_ doesn’t mean it can’t be _better._ Turning away from progress does nothing for the village but make us weaker and allow everyone around us to sprint ahead while we trail behind.”

“You sound very opinionated.” Inoichi comments lightly, nothing negative in his expression. Which doesn’t tell Toshiro much, because the man is a master manipulator. 

“I suppose that’s a word for it. I like to think of it as being actively involved in Konoha’s continued success.” Toshiro takes another sip of the tea. It’s a floral blend he doesn’t recognize. “I also like to think that as a citizen of Konoha, I should be allowed some opinion on the way the village treats the people who live here. A bit hypocritical to deny me as such, but expect everything in return from me.”

For a moment, Inoichi is silent, mulling over Toshiro’s — admittedly, very aggressive — words. Then he smiles, slow and sharp, a look that Toshiro has seen grace Inoka’s face before. The grin of a shark that scents blood. 

“You know, I believe we’re going to get along swimmingly, Aikawa-sensei.” The man tips his chin forward, pupil-less gaze freezing Toshiro in place. “Inoka mentioned the types of reforms you were seeking as a sort of _Phase One,_ but I’d like to hear them from you.”

Toshiro remembers a phrase from the life he lived before. _Rome wasn’t built in a day._ The words would have less of an impact on the people here, who wouldn’t have the slightest clue what Rome was, but the context he seeks is identical. “A village is not built in a day. It will take a long time for Konoha to flourish, perhaps years of cultivation. _Phase One_ is an accurate statement. I’ve sorted the reforms I wish to put into action by level of importance and current attainability. In no way do I believe all of them will be possible, nor do I believe the proposals I put forward will be considered final drafts. They’re just the bare bones of potential, and it cannot blossom without the input of Konoha as a whole. That includes _all_ its people.”

He takes a breath, brow furrowing. “I’ll be the first to admit I’m not familiar with Clan Politics, nor do I have the same drive for law as I do for medicine. I don’t trust myself to know best.” Toshiro squares his shoulders, “And I don’t believe anyone should, because then it’s no longer about the community...it’s about _you.”_

Inoichi remains silent, slowly taking sips of the steadily cooling tea and listening with rapt attention. Being under such intense focus is both nerve-wracking and flattering. It’s not often a person with such importance actually _listens_ to Toshiro.

“My first goal is the complete renovation of the hospital. The floor plan is a disaster for the amount of patients we receive, as well as the types. Konoha’s population is over triple the amount it was during the Shodaime’s reign. Organizing the hospital would aid in the protection of both civilians and shinobi from potential exposure or traumatic incidents. As it stands, last month we had three civilians inhale an airborne poison attached to an injured shinobi’s clothing during his admittance.”

Inoichi raises an eyebrow, looking appropriately disturbed by the news. “Why was this not brought to the Council’s attention?”

“Yamanaka-sama, that incident and every other before it has been included in the reports we send in with Aoyama-sensei. She is consistently blocked at every angle by older members of the Council who deem it an unnecessary concern because no one has died yet.”

A frown flickers across Inoichi’s lips. “Most news from the Hospital only ever concerns funding.”

Toshiro is sure he fails to keep his expression from going deadpan, “And who exactly told you that?”

Inoichi sighs, “I see where you’re going…can’t say I’m surprised to hear that vital information is being choked at the source before it reaches the actual discussions. I suppose it’s also the fault of the rest of us for letting her be snubbed at every turn.”

“It is.” Toshiro doesn’t sugarcoat his words, nor does he drop the eye contact he’s been holding with the older man. “Now it’s up to you whether or not you continue to let it happen.”

A laugh bursts from Inoichi’s mouth, a throaty, booming sound originating in his chest. “You speak like a kunai! It’s refreshing to hear such honesty paired with intelligence. Your plans are admirable, Aikawa-sensei, and your words are nothing short of invigorating. I have no doubt you would hold your own against even the Elders, though I wouldn’t recommend earning their ire.”

“If they’re consumed by personal feelings then it’s not me who should be worried.” He says, wary to say anything else on the matter as his words already border on...not _treasonous,_ but certainly not respectful.

“That is true,” Inoichi allows, “But let’s return to the matter of your proposals before we get too ahead of ourselves.”

Toshiro waits patiently, hope blossoming in his chest. He feels Inoka’s chakra humming behind him, pulsing like a racing heartbeat. She hasn’t said a word — and she won’t, she’s strictly here to observe the legitimacy of their meeting — but it’s nice to know that she’s on his side, that she feels like she has just as much of a stake in winning this battle that he does. That’s the whole point, after all. He doesn’t want to do this alone. That was never the plan. 

Toshiro bows his head, not deeply, but enough to convey his sincerity. “I’m asking for your support because this is not a task I can do on my own. It is also not one I _want_ to do on my own. I believe in a Konoha that can stand as a unified front; where people are _heard_ no matter their status, where every citizen, shinobi or civilian, feels like they can get help when they need it, can feel safe and whole and healthy.”

All he wanted was to never again see a child, glassy-eyed and milk pale, staring into an unfathomable distance as their flesh cooled and the life drained from their tiny, immature bodies. He wanted the people on the streets to feel like they could be safe in the place they called home, unworried and allowed to _live,_ to be whatever they wished as long as they didn’t infringe upon others. (Let children be children, let shinobi feel like they could dream without the presence of blood.)

“I believe,” Inoichi murmurs, “That perhaps we should write up a contract.”

Toshiro exhales, “Yamanaka-sama?”

He’s gifted with a grin that makes Inoichi look about ten years younger, “After, you will have the support of my Clan, and we will build you your hospital.”

* * *

  
  


Toshiro walks home alone, giddiness in his steps and a burn at the back of his eyes that he forcefully shoves away. They would be happy tears, but tears haven’t fallen from his rosy gaze in years. Today is just day one, there will be other, bigger days that deserve such a spill of emotion.

He spots Kakashi about half-way back, slouched and staring at nothing as he walks, a grocery bag hanging from his wrist. The street lanterns have switched on and dusk was an hour before. The dark of the night is cooling after such a humid, sunny day. Toshiro feels such incredible amounts of excitement in his blood that he doesn’t hesitate to call out to the man.

“Hello, Kakashi-san!” He waves, smile pulling so widely at his mouth it hurts his cheeks.

The not-so-secret ANBU member blinks, visible eye scanning over Toshiro’s well-dressed form. “Ah, Aikawa-sensei.”

Toshiro stops just a few feet away from the other, waving the address away with his hand. “Please, just call me Toshiro, you’re not much older than me.”

“...you’re in a good mood.” Kakashi notes, slouching even more. 

“I’ve just gotten some good news.” Toshiro hums, rocking back on his heels. He tilts his head back and stares up at the faintly twinkling stars, inhaling deeply. “Change is finally coming.”

“Congratulations.” Kakashi says, though he clearly has no idea what Toshiro is talking about.

Toshiro looks back at the taller man, suddenly sheepish, “Sorry to stop you on your way home. My excitement got the best of me when I spotted a familiar face.”

Kakashi shuffles a little, shrugging with one shoulder. “No need to apologize. It’s good that you’re….happy.”

Sighing gently, Toshiro brushes a loose strand of hair away from his cheek. He offers the man a smile, this one softer than the near-painful one he’d given earlier. “I am happy. Isn’t that funny? Happy.” He mouths the word silently. “How odd.”

They stand in silence for a bit, but this one feels a little less awkward than their usual pauses. 

Kakashi flickers his one-eyed gaze away and clears his throat. “Not odd, I don’t think.”

“No,” Toshiro whispers, “Maybe not. Just unfamiliar.”

The sound of cicadas picks up a notch. There’s a dog barking a few blocks over. One of the lanterns at the opposite end of the street flickers for a moment.

“You look nice.” It’s murmured awkwardly, the silver-haired ANBU shifting once more on his feet. It’s a far cry from the human statue the man turns into when he grows uncomfortable or unsure. It’s...a change.

“What?” Toshiro chuckles a little, holding his arms out and doing a little spin that flares the loose fabrics of his haori and kimono. “The clothes? Thanks!”

“No. Well, yes.” Kakashi clears his throat. “I meant the...happiness.”

“Oh.” He stops showing off, arms falling back to his sides. “You look nice too.”

The confusion on Kakashi’s mostly covered face is obvious — for the split second that it’s present. He’s dressed in a style extremely similar to his ANBU uniform, once again somehow either hoping no one has working eyes or not caring if the whole damn village knows he’s a Black Ops operative. There’s nothing particularly different about him from a visual standpoint.

Toshiro cuts him some slack. “The honesty. You wear it well.”

The taller man stares at him, motionless.

“Goodnight, Kakashi-san.” Toshiro says, offering another smile and continuing on his way home. He has work at 12PM tomorrow.

It’s not until he’s almost out of earshot that he finally hears a response, nearly lost among the sounds of a buzzing night.

“Goodnight, Toshiro-sensei.”

* * *

In the following months, life picks up. It’s busy and stressful and so, so full of change — and he loves every moment of it. The contract he strikes up with Yamanaka Inoichi means that the Yamanaka Clan will now provide support to the hospital. There were a lot of kinks to work out and honestly, Toshiro is sure he’s getting the better end of the deal. There’s no doubt Inoichi knows this, too, but Toshiro isn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth and reject the kindness he’s being shown. Following that contract, the Nara and Akimichi accepted Toshiro’s olive branch and expanded upon it.

The Yamanaka Clan will provide the money for a new hospital. It will include a wing for mental therapy run by the Yamanaka Clan, who would also offer classes about psychology. Plant-based medical and poison research was shared entirely, and the Nara would be in charge of setting up the research wing and outfitting it appropriately. Any Nara of acceptable rank was allowed full access to the labs. They had their own as well, which would allow the passing of information back and forth. The Akimichi were kind. They had money to spare with how successful their restaurant chain was, so their only stipulation was that the hospital cafeteria was outfitted to their standards and an Akimichi stall was present. Toshiro had no problem with that, it would be an incredible upgrade from the bland food the hospital currently served.

In return, class on Medical Ninjutsu would be held at the hospital, with every Yamanaka, Nara and Akimichi allowed five free classes, then half-off all remaining ones. Toshiro had argued for that, which had made him sweat under the gazes of three clan heads, but he held out in his reasoning that offering an entirely free education to every member of a clan would only show favoritism and create a larger divide between them and those who still had to scrounge up the money to pay.

He’s pretty sure Nara Shikaku likes him. 

And is perhaps conspiring to get Toshiro to marry into the Nara Clan.

Which...it’s not entirely unappealing. The Nara are an attractive bunch, to say the least. Sharp jawlines, tan skin and dark hair, the prowling grace of a stalking animal and sharp, narrow eyes lined with thick lashes. As lazy as they appeared to be, there was also something very wild about them, probably due to their connection with the forest and deer. Unfortunately, Toshiro wasn’t really looking for an arranged marriage, nor was he certain that Shikaku was aware of his… preferences.

 _Still, a dark eyed Nara boy._ Phew.

Toshiro knows they’re being kind. Knows without a doubt that maybe if he hadn’t fought for it, hadn’t dropped a bunch of evidence about the problems of both the hospital and various systems around Konoha, they’d have stuck with what they knew. This is not to say they weren’t intelligent enough to figure it all out themselves, but Toshiro also knows that the three Clan Heads aren’t free from their own prejudice about the way Konoha is and the people inside it. Clans, by nature, seem to focus inward. Konoha looked fine on the outside, and their Compounds were flourishing on the inside, so there hadn’t been a need to look too closely when they’d been _brainwashed to think the current Konoha was the best they’d ever have._

Not that he’d mentioned his thoughts about the subtle and not-so-subtle conditioning academy students went through. 

He’s grateful. Because despite all that, the three men seemed to actively _want_ the change Toshiro spoke of. All that ninja sneakiness, all that _what’s in it for me_ bluster and all those _why waste my resources_ attitudes had vanished when assaulted by Toshiro’s brutal honesty.

“Why not?” He’d said. “What do you gain from doing nothing, in comparison to what you gain from doing _something?”_

So you lose some money for a bit. 

Is money worth more than the improved living conditions of your people? The success of the next generation? Toshiro realizes that he’s lucky to be dealing with these three men first, because he knows the other members of the council will likely not react so kindly to his ‘ _put your money where your mouth is’_ candor.

Back to the hospital — sections are shut down and renovated, a whole new floor is being constructed, more wings added once the approval to build on the surrounding land is approved. It’s going to be months of work, and therefore a lot of emergency tents and spaces are set up outside the hospital while parts of it are off limits. They can’t shut the whole building down at once, so they need to do it in pieces. 

Toshiro can’t wait.

No really, he can’t. Now that the ball is rolling it’s like he can’t stop. He made his decision about who to approach next after the contracts with the Ino-Shika-Cho Clans had been signed.

The Uchiha.

Them saying no won’t be harmful, not with the backing he has now, but Toshiro sees something of a kindred spirit in the Uchiha Clan. He isn’t blind, after all. He sees how the population is pulling away from the clan, exacerbated by the Kyuubi Attack six years ago. They no doubt feel ostracized. Hurt. Unheard. _Unseen._

So he goes to Uchiha Fugaku.

“How would you like to make a deal?” he says.

And it’s the hardest thing he ever does, getting Fugaku to come around even a little. The Uchiha are a lot more bitter than Toshiro first assumed. They stare when he enters their Compound, they isolate themselves, brainwash each other with Uchiha-centric propaganda. Toshiro looks Uchiha Fugaku in the eye and tells him that _Konoha is a village, not a group of awkward neighbors, and if he wants to pave the way for change he should start by winning over_ the people.

“Awfully presumptuous of you.” Is Fugaku’s response, and he looks at Toshiro with enough contempt to kill a lesser man.

“There is no leader without people.” Is what he replies before finishing his cup of tea, “And it is people who make a home.”

Toshiro’s not entirely sure how much changes, but he visits Fugaku a total of five times within one month and somehow settles into a routine that feels like a mock trial.

Then Uchiha began to show up to the Medical Ninjutsu education courses.

When the hospital is finished with its updates exactly 10 months later, Toshiro speaks with Inoichi, Shikaku and Chouza about a proposition. Technically, as their money went into the hospital, it’s them who should be responsible for the following celebration. 

Toshiro thinks another option would be more beneficial in the long run.

(“You’re a force of nature, Toshiro-sensei.” Shikaku hums, scrubbing a hand across his mouth to hide a grin. “What a pain.”)

The Uchiha run the festival held in celebration for the freshly ‘re-opened’ hospital. They man the stalls, decorate the streets, provide music and specialty vendors — the whole clan spills out to create an explosive event that sucks in civilians and shinobi alike, creating a night that’s on the lips of hundreds for weeks after.

Two days after the festival, the Uchiha and Nara are tied in an alliance and focus their collaborative efforts on the Uchiha Police Force.

(“The segregation is astounding.” Shikaku mutters, pouring over a distressing amount of paperwork. “So’s the method of organization. Who messed up this filing cabinet?”

Fugaku cycles through a range of very complex emotions because he never imagined being _here,_ and having something like an ally to tell him and his clan that their pain is _valid,_ and it’s _wrong to let it continue._ )

The Nara are shortly followed by the Yamanaka and Akimichi, and suddenly the trio has turned into a quartet. Uchiha and Akimichi walk down the streets together, dark haired, willowy figures with pale skin and pretty faces, side by side with kind, cheery men and women thick with muscle and heft. Uchiha and Yamanaka argue over poisons and trade hair tips — seriously, Toshiro heard an exchange take place with his own ears, who knew Uchiha made their own bath products?

* * *

He doesn’t see Inu. Or Kakashi.

* * *

“Sensei.” 

Toshiro looks up from his tea, chai spicy on his tongue. “Ah, Itachi-kun. How are you?”

The tea shop he’s in is quiet, a mix of traditional and on-the-go. It’s a popular hang out for shinobi, who frequently slip under the half-curtain and order little treats at the counter to take away. Mayuri’s is his usual haunt — the one he constantly visits with Inoka, the workers knowing both their faces by now — but he’d decided to spice it up today and hit up one of the shops a little farther from the main street.

Itachi is a small boy for thirteen, though he moves with the grace of a seasoned shinobi. It’s a bit like looking in a mirror, except Toshiro knows that Itachi is a one in a million kind of genius and certainly both stronger and smarter, past life be damned. It’s humbling. 

It also makes him feel awful that the kid has likely never known a relaxing day in his life.

Today, Itachi is accompanied by his brother, the very adorable Sasuke, who’s turning eight next week. They’re both dressed in classic Uchiha short-sleeves, wide collar and clan symbol embroidered on their backs. 

“I’m well. I heard your birthday was a few weeks ago, I’m sorry for missing it.” The boy shuffles, pulling a small gift from his pocket with one hand, the other commandeered by his little brother. Toshiro had received a range of gifts on his birthday from the four clans he’d entangled himself with, something about respect and _alliances_ and all that drab, but he’s sure they just wanted to see him get flustered under all the attention.

“Oh! I know you were away on a mission, Itachi-kun. I’m not offended. You didn’t have to get me anything.” Still, he reaches out to take the offered gift. It’s a palm-sized box, thin and silver. He pulls the top off to reveal a pair of earrings. Studs, by the looks of it, little gems bright, cardinal red, as vivid as the red the Uchiha Clan prides itself on. Very obviously a statement.

A claim.

“This isn’t some kind of proposal, is it?” He asks, just to be sure. 

Itachi turns scarlet, and it’s so shocking that Toshiro can only blink while Sasuke gapes and dissolves into childish laughter. 

“N-No,” the elder Uchiha boy says, clearing his throat. “It really is a gift. And a sign of our thanks.”

Toshiro runs a finger over the pretty stones. He’s never thought about piercing his ears before, but looking at these.... “They’re beautiful, thank you. But you really didn’t have to. I don’t need gifts, my loyalty is not material.”

“I know.” Itachi replies, an expression both serious and imploring on his young, stress-lined features. There’s a wealth of unpacked emotion in the grim line of his mouth and rallying gleam of his dark eyes. “That’s why I got them for you.”

Toshiro shakes his head grins. _How cute._ “Well, I suppose I’ll have to go get these put in, huh? You two wanna come?”

He goes home that night after spending the day trying to make Itachi smile, pulling equal amounts of laughter and grumpy frowns from Sasuke with his teasing. (Seriously, the kid is too cute!) Cardinal red earrings gleam against the soft flesh of his earlobes in the dim lamplight, the sting of the piercing having long since faded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> toshiro - recently 18  
> kakashi - 21


	4. bug spray

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter summary: toshiro just wants his plants :(

When the first snow falls, Kakashi is outside Toshiro’s door.

“Huh.” He says, the frigid air slipping into his freshly heated home. “Hello, Kakashi-san. Would you like to come in?”

The man is dressed in all dark clothes, heavy and made for the winter. Snow dusts his shoulders, and Toshiro wonders exactly how long the man has been wandering out in the cold after spotting how red Kakashi’s ears are. The other man doesn’t look well. Tired, actually, like he’s been working long hours. Or just returned from an exhausting mission.

“Thank you.” The ANBU member murmurs, and steps past Toshiro into the much warmer indoors.

Toshiro isn’t embarrassed about his living conditions. He has plenty of money, at any moment he could move out to one of the pricier apartments in a nicer district. But this apartment serves its purpose. It was a place to sleep, a place to keep his things, and a place to lounge around on his day off. Clean and well-kept, all facilities working (aside from that leaky faucet, but that’s almost comforting at this point) and the heating unit recently repaired. His money would be better spent somewhere else, like on the orphanages.

Still, there’s an odd glimmer of nervousness in his gut when Kakashi enters. Toshiro runs his eyes around the room, checking for anything out of place. His home is pretty average, mostly filled with plants and shelves of books and scrolls. The entrance leads into the living room, which also houses an open kitchen. It’s not entirely _updated,_ but all the appliances work, he’s even got a dishwasher. 

Kakashi’s steel-dark eye glances over the plush couch covered in numerous throw blankets, the coffee table heavy with half open scrolls; then flickers to the kitchen, where the sink window is busy with plants and two pots simmer on the stove to the left. 

“Have you eaten?” Toshiro asks, resuming his shoddy cooking. It’s nothing fancy, he’s just reheating a meal from the Akimichi.

Kakashi stands awkwardly in the middle of the living room. “You don’t — ”

“That’s a no, then.” He interrupts, throwing a smirk over his shoulder. “Sit down. It’s just miso and udon noodles. You like savory foods, right?”

The off-duty ANBU exhales sharply through his nose.

“What?” Toshiro murmurs, humor in his voice, “Did you think I forgot? It’s a very belated birthday gift, but I hope you’ll accept it since you caught me off guard tonight.”

“Has it been a year already?” Kakashi drawls, walking unhurriedly to one of the stools by the kitchen island. There’s something heavy in his voice, like he can’t believe he’s even lasted so long.

Toshiro sighs, “Tell me about it.”

They’re quiet while he finishes heating up the food. It’s not a suffocating silence, nor is it an awkward one. If anything, it’s contemplative. Toshiro isn’t sure what drove Kakashi to show up at his door and he’s not entirely sure he should ask — or rather, if he’ll need to.

He fills two hearty bowls with udon, then two smaller ones with the miso soup. It’s actually something of a coincidence that he was cooking food that suited Kakashi’s taste. He’d been _this close_ to heating up the fried tempura, but a sudden craving for noodles had swayed him at the last second.

After serving the food and handing Kakashi a pair of chopsticks, Toshiro joins the other man at the counter, sliding onto the remaining stool. They clap their palms together at the same time, both muttering a soft _itadakimasu_ under their breath.

Toshiro begins to eat first, resolutely not looking in Kakashi’s direction. Nothing is ever said, but a man doesn’t cover most of his face in public for _years_ for no reason. He’s sure Kakashi would feel uncomfortable with any attempt at peeking. 

After a moment, he hears Kakashi begin to eat as well, though his pace is far quicker. 

“I haven’t seen you for… over a year, actually.” The last time he had was a week after Kakashi’s previous birthday, just before Toshiro finalized the deal with the Yamanaka. 

“Mission.” Kakashi replies, and by the tone of his voice it’s not one he’s allowed to talk about.

“Well...welcome home.” 

There’s a pause. 

Toshiro wonders if he’s said something wrong.

“Ah,” Kakashi finally replies, clearing his throat. “I’m home.”

* * *

“ _Change is coming._ You said that, the last time we talked. Or something like it.” An hour later, Kakashi is lounging on Toshiro’s couch, sunken into the blanket pile until only an arm and his head — with his ridiculous silver hair sticking straight up — can be seen. They’d washed the dishes quickly and quietly, and split a few slices of sweet mango as a desert. 

Toshiro knocks a hand against Kakashi’s knees and the older man tucks them up to create space on the couch. He sits, elbow pressed to Kakashi’s shins and the man’s blanket covered toes brushing his thigh. 

“I remember. I’d just sealed the deal with the Yamanaka. Technically. We had to finalize some details after, but that night was...the start.” He replies, tilting his head back to slump against the couch cushions.

Kakashi hums, “A lot has changed.”

“Oh, you noticed?”

A sharp laugh, still a little odd and uncomfortable sounding. “Hard to miss. The entire hospital is...different. And I’m pretty sure the Uchiha have never been so friendly in all their lives.”

“Bad experiences?” Toshiro turns his head a little to look at the other, meeting a single dark eye.

Kakashi blinks slowly. “Well, they’re not fond of me being in possession of an eye they see as belonging to them.”

“Hm, the one under your hitai-ate, right?” It’s a rhetorical question. Toshiro knows exactly what’s under there, it’s all over Kakashi’s medical paperwork. _Eye transplant in the field._ The way this world works still amazes him sometimes. Chakra attaching an activated dojutsu into the eye socket of a host that didn’t possess the genetics for it? The idea of dojutsu theft was not new, but Kakashi was the only documented person in _known existence_ to ever successfully receive a sharingan while not being an Uchiha. “I suppose I understand their worries. But a gift is a gift, and you don’t seem the type to make it easy for your enemies. There are few others that dojutsu would be safer with.”

Kakashi breaks eye contact, looking off to the side like he’s never been _less_ interested in the conversation. “Maa, sensei, you’ll give me a big head.”

“We wouldn’t want that.”

“Tell me about what you’ve done.” The ANBU member requests, settling further into the blankets. He doesn’t look like he’ll be moving any time soon.

Toshiro speaks well into the night.

In the morning he wakes up in his bed, with nothing but the sight of long-dried bowls by the sink to tell him that it hadn’t been a dream.

* * *

“Legally, you can’t enforce a contract when the other party is under financial duress. Otherwise it’s not an agreement, it’s blackmail. On another note, a contract can become null and void if certain information comes to light that relates to the subject matter and was not agreed upon.” Uchiha Fuyumi explains. Her long hair is tied in a pretty braid, a shade of navy so dark it’s almost black. Her eyes are equally dark, but without the hints of blue (he doesn’t think there’s a single Uchiha in possession of eyes any other shade but _black_ ) and sharp with enough intelligence to rival a Nara. She’s a member of the Uchiha Police Force and skilled in the art of _law._

She’s also been helping him learn the ins and outs. It’s mind-numbing work, and this is from someone who reads biology books for _fun._

“Undisclosed relevant information cancels the validity of a contract.” She continues, and his hand is cramping at the speed in which he takes notes. 

It’s all useful information, after all. He’s certainly going to need it. The Clans he’d dealt with really had been kind, showing him how to write up contracts and not screwing him over even when they could have, with his lacking knowledge on all the legal issues and concepts. 

Uchiha Fugaku had swiftly decided that no ally of his would be caught out in a battle of law. The sound of Shikaku cackling in the background during _that_ conversation wasn’t inspiring in the slightest.

“If I ever get in trouble with the law, you’ll save me, right?” He flutters his lashes prettily, brain hurting from all the legalese being tossed around.

Fuyumi scoffs, brushing a stray hair away from her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

He’s pretty sure she’d rescue him.

* * *

“Sensei!” A little voice exclaims, stopping him in his tracks on his way out of the Uchiha Compound. Sunset hues spill across the sky, tinging his ash-blond locks with pinks and gold. Air condenses before him with every exhale, last week’s snow still heavy on the ground.

Toshiro turns to see Sasuke approach, looking like he’s just finished up with a training session. There’s a clump of mud in his hair and dirt on his nose, a tear in his shirt and what looks like ash on his sleeves. His cherubic face is flush red with the cold, ears pink and skin so pale it reflects the scattered rays of a sinking sun. There’s no sign of blood, however, which is a relief. Kids really push themselves too hard these days.

“Sasuke-kun,” he smiles, reaching out to brush the solidifying mud from the mop of dark navy hair. “You look like you’ve been working hard.”

Sasuke pouts bashfully, swiping a hand through his hair like he’s concerned about more mud. “I’ve been working on my Katon Jutsus!”

“Playing with fire, huh? That’s pretty impressive for someone your age.” It is, or it should be. The kids during peacetime should be allowed to take their time, it would certainly be better on their bodies — too much training could be damaging for their development. Konoha hadn’t cared before, when the war had been raging and kids were made to learn jutsu at four, burning out their coils and resulting in a lot of chakra-related deaths. It’s why Toshiro didn’t like people brushing off chakra exhaustion while in the hospital. 

“Nii-san learned it way before I did…” Sasuke toes the ground, though he does look a little happy at the compliment.

Toshiro purses his lips. “Is it hard? Learning it?”

Sasuke shrugs, “A little. But I’m getting better at it! I can do the Gyokyaku no Jutsu!”

“Wow, that _is_ impressive! That’s a C rank jutsu!” He kneels a little, so he’s more at Sasuke’s height, uncaring of the slush. “You know, you shouldn’t worry so much about what your brother did at your age. You wanna know a secret? It’s okay to take it slow. It’s okay to be _Sasuke,_ and learn what works best for you.”

“But I have to be strong, like him.” Sasuke murmurs, the grim expression out of place among his baby fat. “I’m an Uchiha.”

Toshiro squeezes Sasuke’s nose. The boy smacks his hand away, whining in protest and cheeks flushing a shade darker. “Don’t be strong like him, be strong like Sasuke.”

Sasuke rubs his nose. “I don’t get it.”

“Think about it, your brother loves you. He loves Sasuke.” Toshiro smiles, brushing a strand of errant hair away from Sasuke’s forehead. “He wants you to be _you,_ whoever that ends up being. I know it feels like you need to listen to everyone else, or maybe it feels like you need to be the person they tell you to be….but then you’re not really being _Sasuke,_ now are you?”

“I guess….” The boy says, still frowning. “You say confusing things sometimes.”

Toshiro laughs and ruffles Sasuke’s hair, much to the boy’s ire. “You’ll do the same when you’re an old man like me!”

* * *

( An entire team is slaughtered on a mission. The two Uchiha present have their eyes ripped from their sockets. )

* * *

“Don’t freeze. Laugh like I’ve said something funny.” Kakashi appears beside him while he’s walking from the hospital after his twenty-four hour Tuesday to Wednesday shift. The morning sun hurts his eyes, but he doesn’t feel super awful. He’s stayed up for days on end before, this is nothing. (Nor is that really something to brag about.)

Toshiro tilts his head and smiles winningly, hair spilling across his cheek as he laughs. He leans in until he’s almost flush against Kakashi’s side, mouth hidden by the taller man’s arm.

“Do you have somewhere safe to stay for a bit? Preferably with multiple defense systems.” Kakashi asks, lone eye crinkling into a half-moon shape, even though his tone is the farthest thing from smiley. 

“Pick a Clan, any Clan.” Toshiro mutters, pretending to eye the stalls around them. He feels the hair on the back of his neck stand up and it takes every bit of will he possesses not to peer around in suspicion. “But let’s go with the Nara.”

Kakashi puts an arm around Toshiro’s shoulders, the movement so swift he almost stumbles in surprise. Before he can protest, the taller man pulls him close — and they disappear.

* * *

“There’s been an unknown operative tailing Toshiro for a few days now.”

The Nara compound is gorgeous, traditional japanese homes made with tanned wood, surrounded by thick trees and patches of towering grass. Every house is compact, with a fenced-in yard, the Main House has a beautiful zen garden with smooth stones of various sizes and a small river, a gate at the end leading into the woods. They’re more isolated than other clans. It’s harder to spy on them. This is exactly why Toshiro chose them — that, and he trusted Nara Shikaku and his Clan. (Not to say he didn’t trust the others, because he did.)

They’re in the living room, sitting comfortably at a low table. Kakashi is slouched, one arm propped on a knee but a look of steel in his eye. Toshiro sits beside him, arms on the table and legs crossed beneath him. Across the two of them sits Nara Shikaku and his wife, Yoshino. 

“Why not inform me when you first noticed?” Toshiro asks, keeping his voice light. He’s not mad, just curious.

Kakashi’s brow still furrows like he’s been reprimanded. “I couldn’t be sure that it wasn’t a detail ordered by the Hokage...or…”

“You were gathering information.” Shikaku says, “It’s what every ninja does. What happened to make you react like this?”

After a deep breath, Kakashi straightens out a little. “I have reason to believe that the operative is not a member of ANBU, but in fact part of a faction known as Root.”

Toshiro has never heard of such an organization. 

“The Hokage disbanded Root years ago.” Shikaku stresses, and the air grows tense. “Are you aware of what you’re saying, Kakashi?”

Yoshino flickers her eyes between her husband and Kakashi, lips pressed in a hard line. She moves to get up, pressing a hand to Shikaku’s shoulder. “I’m going to make some tea. I have a feeling we’ll be here for a while.”

“Thank you, Nara-sama.” Toshiro says, relaxing his hands from the fists he’d unconsciously curled them into. 

She waves away his thanks, pressing a hand to her cheek, “Oh, you’re so polite, Aikawa-sensei!” A venomous look is shot at her husband. Shikaku shrinks in on himself a little.

“I realize exactly what I’m saying.” Kakashi whispers, though both remaining listeners hear him. “Danzo-sama has been utilizing Root forces behind Hokage-sama’s back. It was never disbanded, it only went underground.”

Shikaku presses a hand to his head, looking pained. “Well, this is a mess.”

“How...do you know this?” Toshiro asks Kakashi weakly, eying the two of them. It feels like a lot of information is going a little over his head. He’s not as involved in the heavy politics of Konoha, as much as he wants to change it — he’d rather change the _people_ in charge, make them _want_ to be better — so while the seriousness of the situation is understood, it feels like he’s missing some context.

“Root was a branch of Black Ops that went _beyond_ ANBU. The operatives were ruthless, devastating and...inhuman. You can imagine the kind of missions they were required to do, I suppose, if you consider that not even ANBU would take them.” Shikaku’s gaze was heavy, the lines by his eyes looking deeper than they were a minute ago. “During the war they felt...necessary. Not everyone agreed. After, the Hokage abolished the group...or he claimed to do so. If you’re saying it’s still around, and this information is to be trusted...that means...oh, Kakashi...”

Kakashi seems to wither, though his gaze does not waver. “I was part of Root. Briefly.” He halts, the words hard and forced from his mouth with obvious struggle. “After... _After._ When Sandaime-sama was reinstated, Danzo-sama was able to slip back in the cracks that had only been sealed by Minato-sensei. I was…”

Toshiro puts a hand on Kakashi’s arm. “You don’t have to explain if you’re not ready for it. We get the gist.”

Kakashi sags like his strings have been cut.

“I did some awful things,” he finally whispers. “Things I’m not proud of. That was years ago, but Root still exists, I guarantee it.”

“Danzo-sama is a member of the council.” Toshiro knows that much, though he’s never personally met the man. He knows Aoyama-sensei complains about him sometimes, his ornery nature is apparently considerably unpleasant. 

“That he is.” Shikaku mutters slowly, “He was also on Sandaime-sama’s genin team.”

Toshiro quirks a brow. “They have history.”

Kakashi huffs, bitter and not at all amused, “Hokage-sama certainly treasures it.”

At that moment, Yoshino returns with a tray of tea. They fall silent, though Shikaku gives Kakashi a searching, narrow-eyed _look,_ one that Toshiro can’t make sense of. Yoshiro places a cup before each of them, then carefully pours the boiling tea. The scent of mint fills the air. Toshiro inhales deeply, finding the scent relaxing. 

He wishes he could sleep.

“It seems to me that you will need a place to stay, Aikawa-sensei.” Yoshino announces once she’s finished. She seats herself back beside her husband, delicately sipping her cup of tea.

Toshiro warms his hands around his own, “I….suppose? I’m not entirely sure what’s happening here, to be honest.”

“Danzo-sama has done more than a few...questionable actions in recent years. Nothing overtly suspicious, but I suppose stacking them all up doesn’t exactly paint the prettiest picture.” It’s Shikaku who speaks, face carved from stone. Toshiro realizes quite suddenly that what they’re all speaking of very likely borders on treason. He eyes the walls before he can stop himself.

Yoshina answers his silent query. “Don’t worry, I’ve activated every privacy seal we have.”

“Hokage-sama lets too many misdeeds slide out of compassion.” Kakashi states abruptly. 

“Kakashi,” Shikaku begins warily.

“No,” Toshiro interrupts, “He’s right.”

The table is silent.

He clears his throat. “I have a lot of respect for Hokage-sama. I don’t doubt that he’s a good man, but I do know he is ruled by his heart. That is fact, not an accusation. You need only look at his students to know it to be true.”

Shikaku pulls a face, looking like he swallowed a lemon. The tension in the room seems to go up a notch before he finally sighs, shoulders slumping. “I know.”

“The fact that Danzo-sama has ordered a Root operative to tail you means he considers you one of two things. A threat, or a potential asset.” Kakashi cups his tea with two hands, bare fingertips brushing the hot ceramic surface. He doesn’t move to drink it, fabric mask still solidly in place. “If Danzo-sama ordered you dead, you would be so.”

“That’s treasonous,” Shikaku warns, though he doesn’t look particularly bothered.

“It’s the truth.”

Toshiro hums and presses two fingers to the bridge of his nose. “You’re telling me that this man is so obsessed with power, with a vision of his own, that he rejects any change or mutual agreement by the majority of Konoha because he thinks that his own decisions somehow hold more weight? And he would kill to do so? He’d murder people in their own homes for having contrasting opinions? He’d murder me for building a new hospital? For lessening Clan tensions?”

Kakashi looks down. Shikaku looks contemplative. Yoshino takes another sip of tea.

Toshiro meets Shikaku’s eyes, voice stern. “What kind of man is that?”

“You really think he’d do such a thing?” Shikaku holds eye contact, but the question is directed at Kakashi. 

“Absolutely.” The silver-haired man replies without hesitation. “Toshiro has made a lot of waves recently. We see it as a good thing — and it is — but if it doesn’t match Danzo-sama’s vision, then he’ll kill Toshiro without pause.”

Shikaku looks around the table, meeting everyone’s eyes. (Or eye, in Kakashi’s case.) With a gusty sigh, he leans his head back and stares balefully at the ceiling. “What a pain.”

* * *

The Nara Main House is huge. There’s multiple bedrooms, presumably for families with more than one child. It’s an inherited home, passed down to each Clan Head. Shikaku and Yoshino only have one son, Shikamaru. He’s a cute little kid, with pudgy cheeks and thick, dark hair tied back in a ponytail, his sharp eyes the color of spring bark. 

Toshiro will be staying with them. For how long, he isn’t sure. It depends on how things go. There’s a lot of planning to be done. What they’d spoken about was mostly speculation — though Kakashi as an eyewitness and participant in Root was certainly evidence that held weight. What they needed now was _more_ evidence. Danzo was already committing a crime by running a secret operation under the Hokage’s nose, but the more dirt they had, the better. Especially since the Sandaime always seemed so eager to let his loved ones off with just a slap of the wrist. 

That didn’t fly. Not now, when it affected Konoha as a whole. Not when his life hung in the balance for something as simple as _helping others._ Was that presumptuous? Toshiro didn’t think so. There was literally _nothing_ bad about wanting to improve their utilities to better help everyone. At least, not in his eyes. And apparently not in most others, either.

It was a collaborative effort, too! It was never about him! It was never about trying to hold on to any power he gained, even if he’d known he’d need quite a bit of it before anything could be done. It was the only way anyone would listen.

“We have wards around the house.” Shikaku explains after they finish their tea, Kakashi somehow managed to empty his cup in the blink of an eye. “Tripled after the attempted kidnapping of Hyuuga Hinata. They won’t get to you here, not without alerting the whole Compound.”

“So I won’t be able to leave?” Toshiro asks, features twisted in distaste. He has _work._ There’s still so much to be done!

“Actually…” 

They turn to look at Kakashi, who taps a finger against his chin. “I have a solution for that.”

Toshiro leans in, “Care to share?” 

“Me.”

Shikaku hums, “Not a bad idea. Though you’ll have to be taken off active duty until this is all settled.”

“I have a few vacation days saved up.” The Copy Nin says, dry as a desert. 

“Are you saying you’ll...what?” He squints, feeling the beginnings of an oncoming headache. “Be my bodyguard?”

Kakashi directs his gaze upward, as if he’s considering an offer that Toshiro himself has put forward, “Sure, why not?”

So now he sits, a little dazed at both the heavy conversation and the sudden upheaval of his current life. The sliding doors are open to expose the serene garden at the back, another set of doors revealing a grassy nook that showcases both trees and other homes that lay nearby. The sun is high enough in the sky to fill the home with natural light, and a soft breeze ruffles his clothes. He’s still dressed in his hospital grays, white lab coat and all. He’s got his hair tied up in a high ponytail, though it’s certainly not thick enough to replicate the Nara’s spiky shape. Instead it falls soft and loose, brushing the back of his neck. The usual soft pink headband keeps stray strands from brushing his eyes while he works. 

“Toshiro, I’m going to grab some of your stuff. You should rest, I know you had a long shift.” Kakashi stands near him, peering out at the garden with a bland expression. He’s got his hands in his pockets, lithe body in a familiar casual slouch. 

Toshiro peers up, his shoulder brushing Kakashi’s leg. “My plants!”

The man sighs, knocking the closest of Toshiro’s shoulders with his knee. “That Yamanaka friend of yours can handle ‘em.”

“I suppose…” he murmurs, morose.

“Anything you want in particular?” 

Toshiro wracks his brain. “Assuming my apartment isn’t going to be destroyed or anything, I guess you can leave all the scrolls. They’re mostly just informational texts, anyway. My kimonos would be preferable, and then any other clothing you can grab. Bathroom stuff. The blanket with the roses on it. And, uh, I have some anmitsu in the fridge.” He flushes at Kakashi’s incredulous stare. “I don’t care about the other food, there isn’t much left...but I’ve been looking forward to that anmitsu since the start of my shift!”

The man sighs, like he’s been tasked with something monumental. “Hai, Hai.”

* * *

“Oh,” Toshiro says, stopping Kakashi as he’s half-way out the door.

“What? Forget something to add to the list?”

“No,” he laughs, lips curling into an indulgent smile. “It’s just...you dropped the _sensei.”_

Kakashi’s silvery brow dips low, “What?”

“ _Sensei.”_ Toshiro repeats. “You haven’t used it. You’ve just been calling me _Toshiro.”_

The Copy Nin turns to stone, muscles locking tight — then relaxes, so quick the whole reaction felt imagined. “Ah…”

“I don’t mind.” For a while, Toshiro had swelled with pride at the sound of _sensei_ attached to his name. He’d worked for it, had suffered at every turn to be taken seriously while so young. Now? He feels like a whole new man. He was respected, he was listened to, he had allies who knew both him and his skills. 

He smiles, cherry red earrings glinting, “Hurry back, _Kakashi.”_

A dark eye curves, breath escaping masked lips with a _whoosh._ In the blink of an eye, Kakashi disappears. In his place is a swirl of curling leaves.

“That man!” Yoshino curses, appearing by Toshiro’s side. She eyes the innocuous piles of leaves with disdain. “Right in the doorway! Who does he think has to pick up after him?”

Toshiro tilts his head back and laughs, lighter than he ever has before. Yoshino looks at him in faint surprise, before her own countenance shifts from annoyed to soft, a grin tugging at her mouth. She looks younger.

“Come now, Aikawa-sensei. Let me show you to the room you’ll be staying in. Then I’ll introduce you to my son!” She presses a comforting hand to his arm. “I’m sure you’ve seen him around. Oh, I bet he’s still sleeping...just like his father, that one.” She shakes her head. 

Toshiro lets her lead him further into the house, chest tingling. It feels like there’s a ball of electricity in his gut. He thinks of the emptiness of his own apartment.

He listens to Yoshino’s exuberant talking, gets a wave from a sympathetic looking Shikaku and — 

Wonders.

He’d forgotten the sounds of a home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> toshiro - 18  
> kakashi - 22


	5. subtle growth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kakashi pov anyone? aksdjal everyone has been saying the nicest things like ??? holy SHIT GUYS !!! all ur reviews have been giving me incredible amounts of motivation. i've literally been writing a chapter a day. yeah. i post as soon as i finish a chapter. it's somethin like 5k words a day and im LIVING ,,, anyway pls continue to enjoy... the time skips are minimal for the time being bc a lot of big stuff is happening all at once

Hatake Kakashi doesn’t understand a life beyond violence. He observes the civilians that wander the streets with an apathetic eye, understanding that their cushy lives are only the result of his tireless work. Their smiles are born of his spilt blood. He’s not mad about it. He doesn’t know anything else.

Missions fill the gaps in his life. There are holes in his chest — not the result of a Chidori, but just as cutting. They ache and burn when he doesn’t stuff his head full of logic and rules, when he doesn’t push his body to the brink, muscles burning and straining with exhaustion. Working tirelessly to the bone is the only way he’s able to sleep at night without seeing the blood of the daytime in his dreams. 

The day he meets Aikawa Toshiro, he’s delirious with pain and half out of his mind. He hasn’t slept in four days, there’s poison burning through his bloodstream and crimson stains his pale skin, spilling across the sheets he lays upon. He doesn’t register a face, just the flash of a voice and the scent of earth — or flora. He clings to that as he sinks under, body instinctively registering the fact that he’s in safe hands. He’s in the hospital. He can rest.

The next time he meets Aikawa-sensei, he’s more aware.

Aikawa-sensei smells like exhaustion. Like hospital chemicals and ink, with the underlying hint of mint. His last meal had been tamagoyaki. Kakashi discreetly activates the seals in his mask to dim the cacophony of scents that bombard him. The hospital is a harsh place for those with sensitive noses.

The other is less a man, more a boy — but that doesn’t mean much to someone like Kakashi, who isn’t much older and grew into a weapon by age four. Aikawa-sensei talks like a professional and deals with the ANBU with a single-minded kindness and ease that...well, is a little confusing. Civilian doctors aren’t _scared,_ per se, but they’re not the most comfortable when treating shinobi above the level of Chuunin, especially when the shinobi in mention isn’t charismatic enough to make the doctor forget that they’re dealing with a trained killer holding enough power in their pinky to obliterate them.

Aikawa-sensei is a Chuunin, but he talks like ranks don’t exist. He’s a child of the Third War, so Kakashi finds it interesting but not surprising. There are very few shinobi left without an odd personality quirk born of their...work.

Sometimes Aikawa-sensei smiles and Kakashi doesn’t know what to do with his tongue. So he doesn’t talk. He remains rigid. But it’s easy to get sucked into the gravitational pull of Aikawa-sensei, who walks with the power of a man larger than life, a glint in his eyes that makes it look as if he’s peering into the future. Like he’s seeing something no one else can. 

A part of Kakashi itches to know.

Two years pass and Aikawa-sensei is the kind of person that never quite leaves Kakashi’s radar. They interact too frequently. (It’s not hard to grow fond of him.)

He has the kind of charisma that Kakashi remembers Minato-sensei having. More often than not, it hurts to be in the same room as Aikawa-sensei. Most times it’s a bittersweet hurt, like pressing on a loose tooth. It’s not healthy, he knows. He’s chasing a feeling that reminds him of ghosts. It’s just…

Hard.

Gai and the others are one thing. They’ve always been there, tolerable and nudging the outside of Kakashi’s iron cage. They feel like extensions of himself, like moss growing across his surface. Gai is a good friend, he pulls Kakashi from the brink over and over, and forces warmth into Kakashi’s life when he needs it the most. However, Gai is a lot. High energy, high maintenance, the kind of man that Kakashi needs time between interactions to survive.

Aikawa-sensei is not like that.

Instead of the raging inferno that makes up Gai, the younger man is trickling sunlight. Creeping warmth. The feel of laying on summer-hot rocks by a lake, or slipping deeper into an onsen. He makes conversation. He jokes. He tells Kakashi _welcome home._ Other doctors are clinical. Impersonal. Kind, but focused on efficiency. 

Aikawa-sensei makes Kakashi feel like a person, and he doesn’t know what to do about that. He’s not special. The other man acts that way with everyone, but Kakashi thinks that he prefers that. Being given special treatment would have made him run for the hills. As it is, he’s already half-way to discomfort every time they have a conversation. 

Kakashi is unfamiliar with baseless kindness. 

(He’d forgotten it. Forcefully. Because to remember would mean drowning.)

It had taken him some months to settle his thoughts, to cut Aikawa-sensei from the tangled mess in his head that _insisted_ the younger man was Minato-sensei, Obito, _Rin._

Charismatic and driven, sure. But no desire for leadership, no desperation for power. Lonely. Half the smiles fake. (Those pink eyes twinkled when it was real.) A healer, but pragmatic and blunt. Sarcastic and cutting. Traits unique to _him,_ which reminded Kakashi that Aikawa-sensei was his own person. Having a few traits similar to the people Kakashi lost didn’t change that.

It started to hurt a little less.

Then the blond arrives in a flurry of expensive cloth, a blistering smile on his young face. He’s soft in the dim, warm light of the streetlamps, all his callous edges airbrushed. 

_“Please, just call me Toshiro_ —” 

And.

Well.

That’s fine. Kakashi can deal with that. He doesn’t really want friends. Even when he’s whole and healthy he still hurts, and every new person is only the potential for more pain. But he’s stuck, caught off-guard because moving another step forward feels natural.

It feels fine.

Kakashi comes to the realization that they might be something like friends. New, like a weakly budding plant. They barely know anything about each other, after all. There’s room for that to change. It’s that part of the process that Kakashi fears, because it treads too close into unfamiliar territory. People know _Hatake Kakashi,_ or _Inu,_ but they don’t really know plain old Kakashi.

 _He_ barely knows who he is.

And he clearly doesn’t actually know a thing about having friends. He’s never had to work for it. Rin and Obito and Gai — they’d all slotted themselves in his life all on their own, regardless of his desires. He doesn’t know how to seek it for himself. 

He’s not even sure he wants to.

 _Toshiro-sensei is safe, though._ He tells himself. _He’s not in the field._

It’s a shoddy comfort, because anything could happen. 

The next time they meet, Kakashi has been gone for a year, away on a mission in Yuki no Kuni. He’d been exhausted and unable to sleep, staring blankly at the wall in his dark apartment. The heat wasn’t on — he’d forgotten — but he could barely feel it. The weather had been twice as bad during his mission, being in a country known for snow. Mechanically, he’d put on winter gear, running completely on logic. 

Then he’d spent about an hour at the memorial stone, snow steadily dusting his hair and shoulders. Some part of him didn’t want to be alone. Not now, while feeling so disconnected from the world, from his village. From his own body. 

He knew where Toshiro-sensei lived. The man wasn’t hard to track, not to someone of Kakashi’s caliber. Before he even realized what he was doing, he was already at the other man’s door. There was no need to knock. He hadn’t hid his chakra.

It was a relief to feel the heat of the apartment, and the heat of _Toshiro-sensei,_ his words and mannerisms and chakra invading every bit of the air Kakashi breathed. He felt dizzy with it. Everything smelled like the younger man. Ink and mint. The hospital scent washed away in the safety of his own home. It was nice. Listening to Toshiro-sensei wasn’t draining. He never pushed. He never pestered Kakashi with questions. 

It was a bit like floating. Kakashi wasn’t sure if this was how friendships usually worked. There was no rush. No _effort._ It just was. He only had to turn and the other man was there. Present. Open. A black hole, sucking in everything _everyone_ had to offer without complaint. Always willing to sit and listen, always willing to just….be. 

Kakashi carried Toshiro-sensei to bed when the man fell asleep during one of their pauses. He felt weird about it.

Then he left.

When spring comes around, Kakashi thinks he’s finally adjusted to seeing the change permeating Konoha. He doesn’t think twice about the Uchiha conspiring with the Nara, nor the start-up hair product business the clan is setting up with the support of the Yamanaka, or even the way the Akimichi will fuss over the wayward Uchiha who wander into their restaurants, piling more food than they could possible carry into their arms.

It’s.

Nice.

Kakashi wishes Obito could see it. He thinks his friend would have loved it. Minato-sensei definitely would have, he’d have been Toshiro-sensei’s biggest supporter. (He’d give Toshiro-sensei the protection he needed, would have offered to listen. Toshiro-sensei wouldn’t have had to struggle for so long, so slowly, just to see the beginning of change.)

They still don’t know much about each other. Small details. The names of a few friends. Toshiro-sensei has an obsession with plants and sweet things. In return, the man knows that Kakashi has an opposing taste in food and taught himself to sew. It’s weird. Some days, when Kakashi’s head feels clear and he can actually _see_ the sun without the filter of apathy usually over his lone eye, he wants to ask. 

He doesn’t, of course. Because to ask would mean he’s more invested than he’s comfortable admitting. So they dance in limbo. Not-knowing but knowing. Kakashi begins to pick up more details merely based on observation, and he’s sure the other is doing the same.

Toshiro likes flowers. He likes comfy blankets and thick socks. He reads a lot, every day if he can, and has a habit of making lists. All his sandals are organized in order of newest to most used. He washes every dish after he uses it. He has issues with controlling every small detail in his personal life.

Kakashi is the same. It’s the result of being forced to be responsible for yourself at a young age, when every decision was taken from you but you were still expected to meet the standards with no one’s merit but your own.

Konoha set high standards.

They also didn’t care if you met them. Not then, during the war. Children essentially become canon fodder, used to bulk the masses but not expected to be much help. Their generation was one of the smallest. Too many had been slaughtered before they’d hit puberty.

Kakashi doesn’t move anything when he visits Toshiro. He knows quite intimately the itchy, irrational irritation that comes when someone moves your things even a centimeter off. Everything is in a certain place. He learns over time what he can and can’t get away with. Kakashi has mellowed since his younger days, his descent into learning the intricacies of regular interaction making him very...annoying and aloof to most. He likes to push buttons. He likes to see how people react to certain things. It’s the way he taught himself how regular people _acted._ He never cared what those people thought of him, not really.

It’s different here. There’s a desire to keep it….civil. If he doesn’t botch this up, he doesn’t have to lose the feeling of easy comfort he gets around the other. 

Which is why he’s not happy to find that Toshiro has a tail. An _officially_ unauthorized one at that. Toshiro is supposed to be _safe_ here, tucked away in the village. Suddenly he’s not. And Kakashi isn’t very happy about that. Then he realizes he can do something about it. (Or he can sure as hell try. There’s no way he’s letting anyone else die on his watch. He doesn’t think he could take it. And if it happened within his own village? That might just be the final straw.)

_“You’ve just been calling me Toshiro.”_

Ah.

Somehow, he’s been saying _Toshiro_ in his thoughts without realizing. He can’t recall when he’d begun dropping the _sensei_ suffix in his head. Now it was out in the open. And it didn’t feel weird. Like everything else, Toshiro took it in stride.

And smiled.

_“Hurry back, Kakashi.”_

It felt like lightning in his gut.

* * *

Toshiro is completely, utterly, _entirely_ enamored with Nara Shikamaru.

“You’re good with children.” Yoshino comments, making no effort to conceal the grin on her face. 

By the end of the week, Shikamaru’s new favorite napping spot is sprawled across Toshiro. The little boy shoves his way under Toshiro’s arms while he’s reading and lays there like a log, tiny hands curling around his kimono.

When he’s tired of his parents, little Shikamaru seeks out the quiet, warm guest who easily offers a listening ear, an answer to a question, or a comfortable spot to laze around. The absentminded hand rubbing his back puts him to sleep within moments every single time. 

“How can I say no to such a cute face?” Toshiro replies, somewhat helplessly. It becomes increasingly obvious to those around him that he has a severe weakness for cute things, from small animals to young kids to little plushies. 

“You spoil him,” Yoshino sighs, though she never makes a move to stop Shikamaru’s behavior. “He’s got you wrapped around his lazy little finger.”

Kakashi walks him to work whenever he has a shift. The man lounges around Toshiro’s office, follows him through the halls, or sits outside in a nearby tree. He’s been reading a lot, various books passing through his hands as the hours go by. One such book is _Icha Icha,_ which Toshiro mentally likens to reading _Fifty Shades of Gray_ in public. Ballsy.

They hold meetings.

Fugaku, Inoichi, Chouza and Shikaku all sit in a room at the Nara Compound, seals activated while their wives cover at their respective Compounds. Sometimes the kids come over, Yoshino cooking huge meals to be eaten by greedy mouths. Sasuke and Shikamaru get along swimmingly, though Sasuke has far more energy. He uses a lot of it up running from Ino, who has a crush on him that she isn’t afraid to show. Chouji steps in when it gets to be too much, always the peacekeeper. They make a very cute quartet. 

Kakashi sits in on the meetings, as does Toshiro. He’s not a Clan Head so a lot of the more technical aspects he shouldn’t really be privy to, but he _can_ provide evidence and no one’s decided to exclude him yet.

With the hospital finished, his next goal was refining the orphanages across Konoha and improving the childcare systems in place — if there even were any. There seemed to be a drastic difference in the laws that affected a person who fell under the _shinobi_ category, no matter their age. 

Civilian orphans got supervision, access to basic schooling, and the development of healthy social skills. An orphan who chose to be a shinobi got some money every month, an apartment and a _Good Luck!_ Toshiro was having trouble understanding why that was a thing _at all._ Some kind of tactic to force early maturity onto children? Probably. There was no need for killer children who couldn’t problem solve or take care of themselves in the field. 

(It was stupid. The survival rate would drastically increase if Konoha fixed its fucking educational systems — in _every_ capacity.)

Before this, he’d been going from orphanage to orphanage, talking to the directors, documenting the children — giving them check-ups, creating medical files for them, diagnosing several diseases and cases of asthma. What was working, what wasn’t working, what did they think could be improved, what did they desperately need, what kind of funds went into supporting the children; he wanted to know it all. It helped having Inoka or Fuyumi with him to make it ‘official clan business’. Everyone knew that the Yamanaka had funded the new hospital and that the Nara, Akimichi and Uchiha all played a part. To everyone else, it just seemed as if Toshiro’s next phase was another passion project to improve Konoha. (And it was, but it certainly wasn’t the Clans thinking up the next steps. Toshiro was still the spearhead of change, the notes he’d made about different areas in Konoha to observe and improve serving as good starting points for discussion among Clan meetings.)

(They’d be coming up with their own ideas soon. It’s what Toshiro looked forward to the most, because then they’d finally be looking around at the place they called home with eyes wide open, tossing the rose-tinted filter to the side and exposing every dusty, rotting corner.)

The point is, Toshiro brings to their attention that thirty-seven orphan children have gone missing in the past two years, and mentions that as a child he himself noticed kids disappearing. Eyewitness accounts are spotty. There are six central orphanages, each with a population of roughly 120 children. All six of the directors swear on their lives that Danzo was present during shinobi recruitment sessions, observing. Four allowed Inoichi to mindwalk them and confirm the accusation. 

The Clan Heads turn inward. 

The Nara remain untouched. The Yamanaka have three children unaccounted for. The Akimichi have two. The Uchiha have seven, along with disturbing reports of squads containing Uchiha members getting attacked more frequently than any other. (Far too often to remain coincidental.)

Five pairs of eyes. Missing.

“This is speculation.” Shikaku mutters.

Inoichi rubs his temple. “We’d assumed that the missing children were lost in the wreckage during the Kyuubi attack.”

“No bodies?” Toshiro stresses, frowning heavily. “After all the debris was cleared and all the buildings were rebuilt? Not a drop of blood? Not a single bone?”

 _You gave up?_ He doesn’t say, though every man in the room hears it.

Fugaku clenches his fists, clearly the most visibly incensed at the information. His clan is being hit the hardest. They’ve had thirteen dead in two weeks. There’s no doubt about it, someone is deliberately targeting their clan. And the news that seven children and teens have gone missing from under his nose?

Toshiro can’t begin to imagine what that feels like.

“If this is Danzo,” Inoichi says, voice low and serious. “And without pure, concrete evidence that’s still a very big _if,_ no matter our feelings, then he’s gone completely off the deep end. The level of deception is immense… he’ll already be in hot water for having Root under Hokage-sama’s nose, but adding kidnapping charges? Every child is important, but to take Clan kids is a risky move. _He thinks he can get away with it._ He really, really does.”

The sun is almost completely set, their features heavy in cast shadows from flickering candlelight. A pot of tea has long since gone cold, their cups in various states of half-drunk. Toshiro has to let go of his before he shatters it with his grip. 

“Thinks?” Kakashi drawls, the candle flame reflected in his dark eye. “He doesn’t _think_ it. He knows it. He _knows_ he can get away with it because he _has.”_

Shikaku pushes a folder across the table. “We’ve got an _in_ among the financial division. I got him to look into the supply orders from the last few years.” He flips it open and spreads out the papers within, prompting all the men around the table to lean forward.

It’s not obvious at first.

But then the numbers start to shift a little. 

Fugaku picks up one of the papers, peering at it incredulously. “How has no one noticed?”

“We weren’t looking?” Chouza mutters, the jolly man uncharacteristically serious. He turns one of the papers towards him. “To think this was happening right before our eyes….”

“Well,” Kakashi says, “If I had an elite, underground team of brainwashed nin, how else would I support and supply them?”

“Stealing from Konoha’s main supply orders?” Toshiro whispers, “He’s been funneling it over time in small amounts for his… little gang of kidnapped children?”

“Dammit.” Fugaku hisses, the generally composed man’s eyes flashing red. There’s a scowl on his face — one that his youngest son often mirrors.

“This is lucky.” Shikaku says, a grin crawling across his face. His features look menacing in the low light. He’s a creature of the shadows, right at home in the dimness. (Their enemies would do well to remember.) “After all, _it’s a paper trail.”_

* * *

“Again.” Kakashi orders.

They’re just by the forest outside the Nara’s Main House, the spring sun bearing down on their sweaty forms. Toshiro stares at the sky from where he’s laid out on the grass, flat on his back. He’s dressed in dark, loose pants and a tight black tee, his hair tied up in a bun. He’s sweating his ass off and feels a bruise blooming on his side.

“Let’s train together, he says,” Toshiro mutters, “It’ll be good practice, he says.”

Still, he heaves himself up. It’s not that he’s out of breath, it’s that his reflexives don’t compare to Kakashi’s. The other man is ruthless — has to be, being an ANBU — with levels of speed that Toshiro can’t track with his eyes. For the past few weeks, they’ve been training together almost every day after Kakashi decided that Toshiro needed to keep his skills sharp in case of an emergency.

It’s not….awful. Toshiro had been keeping up with his own training during his downtime, but didn’t work out nearly enough to _improve,_ since that wasn’t his goal. He’d never really wanted to fight to begin with. Had only done so out of necessity.

And suddenly it was necessary again.

Hell, he’d been getting _stronger._

His learning curve in the physical department was clearly slower than the usual prodigy, pretty average actually, but after continuous training under Kakashi’s diligent eye, Toshiro was starting to notice his skills sharpening. Moving a little faster. Fighting a little longer.

Kakashi even had him pouring over some new jutsu.

“What’s your chakra nature?”

“Water,” he’d replied.

“Somehow, that makes sense.”

Kakashi had a lightning nature (big surprise) so his arsenal of water jutsu was lacking in comparison to the amount of lightning jutsu. It still exceeded what Toshiro knew, so they were set for now. It was interesting to see Kakashi so invested in something. He seemed to come alive when he was busy, when he could work himself to exhaustion. Which he did. Constantly. That, and mope at the memorial stone. 

Toshiro knew an unhealthy coping mechanism when he saw one.

* * *

Then there was _Gai._

* * *

It happened on a Saturday evening, Toshiro had just finished his short shift at the hospital and Kakashi, as usual, was walking beside him, nose in an _Icha Icha_ book and ignoring the world around them. Even as his eye lazily trailed across the words, he never once bumped into anyone or anything. It was almost impressive.

“MY ETERNAL RIVAL!” A deep voice booms across the street. Kakashi’s shoulders hunch.

Toshiro can only watch as _Maito Gai_ comes to a stop in front of Kakashi, leaving a trail of dust clouds in his wake. A thumb is thrust against a puffed chest, wide smile revealing flashing teeth and the usual bowl cut shining with an almost unnatural healthiness. 

“IT IS I, THE GREEN BEAST OF KONOHA!” A finger is pointed directly at Kakashi — who ignores it and dodges around Gai like he’s nothing more than a pole in the middle of the road. “AH! Slighted once again by your hip and cool ways! I CHALLENGE YOU!”

“Maa,” Kakashi finally replies, “I’m busy. Toshiro.”

Toshiro closes his mouth and resumes walking, trotting to catch up with Kakashi. It’s not that he’s never seen the man before. _He’s a fucking doctor, after all. He’s seen almost every ninja at least once, even in passing._ It’s just that. Well. Bearing witness to such a thing is a bit more than just overhearing it or catching a glimpse from a distance. Gai is so...green. The bright orange leg warmers are garish and clash terribly. The man looks like something out of a seventies catalog. 

“Oh!” Gai exclaims, easily keeping pace with them. “Apologies! I didn’t realize you were with company, rival! Who might you be, my youthful comrade?”

Toshiro cracks a smile. Gai’s energy is somewhat admirable. “Aikawa Toshiro. I’m a friend of Kakashi’s. It’s nice to meet you….ah, you said you were his rival?”

“CORRECT! We’ve been rivals since we were children just beginning our springtime journey of youth!” The man shakes Toshiro’s hand with a strong grip and exuberant force. “It’s very nice to meet you as well, Aikawa-san!”

“Sensei.” Kakashi comments blandly. “Aikawa- _sensei._ ”

Gai’s gaze flickers to Kakashi for a second, pausing just long enough that Toshiro can almost say it never happened. “Oh, a teacher then? How admirable!”

“Medic Nin, actually,” Toshiro corrects. “But it’s okay, really. You don’t have to be so formal with me.”

Gai sends him a blinding smile, “YOU’RE TOO KIND, AIKAWA-SENSEI! But your skills are truly admirable! I cannot help but feel a great swell of respect, my new friend! YES, IT’S TRUE, I’M FEELING PUMPED UP! Kakashi! Accept my challenge!”

And so Toshiro observes with a quiet bewilderment as two grown men participate in a best two-out-of-three thumb war, Gai fleeing on his hands after he loses, yelling about the next rematch.

“Huh,” he finally says. “You know, I like him.”

Kakashi sends him a withering look.

“You seem close.”

“Hm,” The Copy Nin murmurs, “Not really.”

Toshiro knocks their shoulders together. “Liar.”

* * *

The Medical Ninjutsu classes are mostly filled with women. The men who do appear are all from the ‘Clan Quartet’. The stigma of medicine being women’s work among ninja is still very prevalent; which is funny, since it’s seen as ‘men’s’ work out in the countryside, where education is limited. The intricacies of sexism across the nation are, quite frankly, annoying. Toshiro very much looks forward to stomping it out. Viciously.

Among all the attendees are five Nara, eight Yamanaka, two Akimichi and four Uchiha. One of which is Uchiha Itachi, who sits in the back, sitting up straight and looking like an adult in a child’s — er, young teen’s — body. 

“I didn’t think you’d have time to learn Medical Ninjutsu,” Toshiro comments when they’re relatively alone, their conversation hushed for privacy. “With all that Heir business. And the other thing.”

Which is code for _I know you’re in ANBU, you literal child._

“My extracurricular activities have been cut short. My father thought it best to focus inward.” Itachi replies, which is code for _My dad made me quit._ “He agreed that this would be a suitable pastime.”

“Did he?” That surprises Toshiro a little. Not because he thinks Fugaku is an overly cruel man, but because he’d always assumed the guy to be...a little more traditional that Toshiro liked. “Well, I’m glad. It’s a useful skill to know, whether or not you pursue it as a full-time career path.”

“I agree.” Itachi nods his head slightly. “It is certainly not a weakness.”

Toshiro presses his lips together, unsuccessful in stopping a smile. “No, it really isn’t.”

And Itachi excels, as expected. For most of it. His reading comprehension is astounding, his chakra control stellar — has to be, with his level of skill in genjutsu, sharingan or not. Truly the makings of a wonderful Medic. The hard part is learning to redirect your chakra out of your body and into another without causing harm or dramatically expending your resources. Healing chakra must be used with _intent._

Mystical Palm Technique was the name of the ‘jutsu’, aptly titled due to the visible glow of high-density chakra expelled from the hands of the user. It was then used to kickstart rapid cell production, healing wounds within minutes and pushing cells to repair bones or giving a jolt to white blood cells to eat away at bacteria and poison. But first the chakra had to be converted into a moldable baseline — it wouldn’t do to add any hint of your chakra nature, lest you end up with a disaster on your hands. Every student with a fire nature had already scorched their practice fish. Some worse than others.

Itachi may be a genius, but Medical Ninjutsu is a skill that requires _practice._ Sure, you can have a knack for it. But even those with a knack take days and days before they see progress. _Slow and steady,_ he tells the class. There’s no shame in it. No rush. No matter how much time you take, you _will_ reach your goal.

(Sadly, it seems as if positive reinforcement isn’t a frequently used teaching approach. Toshiro already knew this due to his own experiences, but it was still…. _disheartening_ to see shinobi of all ages stare at him with a rawness they themselves couldn’t understand, aching at the kindness and not realizing why. Stumbling when he complimented them, flushing up to their ears when he guided them with gentle words and motions. It was like stripping away blood stains with bleach.)

Itachi sets his fish on fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> toshiro - 18  
> kakashi - 22
> 
> three years since they met and they finally did it! they finally called each other FRIEND !


	6. pesticide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM LITERALLY MAKING THIS UP AS I GO but pls enjoy and know that i read every single comment u guys leave and im super happy u guys love toshiro and all the changes taking place. it's gonna be....a pretty difficult road because of both Obito and Black Zetsu tbh :/ y'all i aint looking forward to dealing with THAT bullshit

Sometimes Toshiro thinks about the man he would have been if he didn’t remember his previous life. Stalling on ‘what-ifs’ isn’t his favorite pastime though, so it’s usually a very brief thought process. Mostly, he wonders if he’d be just like every other citizen. Blind and content with life, not knowing how much was wrong because he’d been raised to think it was the norm.

It’s a scary notion.

(Not that it matters.)

The Hokage Tower is a hub of activity. It’s where shinobi go to recieve their missions, where paperwork is turned in for processing, and where the archives are located. It’s the most protected building in all of Konoha, and it overlooks the Academy, claiming safety for rising shinobi while simultaneously forcing kids to constantly remain in its shadow. It’s quite the metaphor.

Toshiro walks into the Hokage’s office early one morning at the request of the Hokage. He’s not sure what for. It makes him nervous. Kakashi strolls beside him, _Icha Icha_ in hand and looking as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. Outwardly Toshiro matches the nonchalance, but he’s sure anyone who stares too long will begin to notice signs of his internal anxiety. 

Kakashi enters with him, not even waiting to ask if it’s okay. Toshiro eyes the man loosely. The Sandaime had requested Toshiro, and Toshiro alone.

“Aikawa-sensei.” Sarutobi Hiruzen greets, seated at his desk with a pipe in hand. He’s clad in his Hokage robes, hat dipping low over his forehead. There are no other chairs in the office. Toshiro stands before the desk and Kakashi hovers at his back. The Sandaime barely spares the other man a glance.

“Sandaime-sama.” Toshiro nods his head, “You wanted to see me?”

Hiruzen’s lips quirk. Toshiro can’t tell if it reaches the man’s eyes. His chakra is almost stifling. “Yes, my boy. You’ve made quite the impression on Konoha and its people. I thought I might as well get to know the man behind the movement.”

“I’m no one.” He refrains from furrowing his brow, “At least, I’m nothing special on my own. Promoting change is a group effort.”

The Hokage taps his pipe against the ashtray on his desk. The bittersweet scent of smoke wafts through the air. All the windows are closed. Toshiro notes the hum of activated seals.

He manages to withhold from telling the Hokage how unhealthy smoking is.

“You sell yourself short.” The man says, and there’s nothing threatening in his posture or expression, but Toshiro can’t help but think he’s being analyzed intently. “Not many can rally the support of four clans in such a short amount of time.”

“Has anyone ever tried?”

The Hokage blinks. “Well, I suppose not.”

“Then perhaps it was never as impossible as previously assumed. To be frank, I saw a problem that could be fixed and decided that no one but myself was stopping me from acting.” Toshiro holds his back straight and keeps his voice steady. Talking to the Clan Heads is one thing — the Hokage is in a league of his own. “I don’t think it’s particularly impressive, personally. If not me, then someone else would have eventually come along.”

There’s a great moment of pause, one that stretches just a second longer than comfortable. The Hokage taps his pipe against the ashtray once more before bringing it back to his mouth. 

“I see,” he finally says. “Still, there is something commendable about being the one who _does,_ no matter the what-ifs.”

Toshiro blinks. “....thank you?”

There’s a sharp huff of breath behind him, tinged with Kakashi’s form of tenuous humor. Toshiro purses his lips and resolutely does not turn around.

The Hokage hums. “And your next project?”

He’s a little surprised — but not really, because he hadn’t exactly been hiding his movements. For a brief moment, he wonders if he actually even _trusts_ the Hokage enough to share his plans. _Now_ that _is a treasonous thought._

So he decides to spin it a little differently. “I was orphaned young, spent a little time in one of Konoha’s orphanages before entering the academy — I suppose it left an impression on me. Once the war ended, I thought conditions would improve.” He offers an awkward smile, “They didn’t — not that they were terrible to begin with, but there’s so much _more_ we could do for the children, to help them grow into the best versions of themselves they can be… and to help them feel like they really do belong. Now that we have peace, there’s no reason _not_ to look around and just...improve.”

He really hopes no one notices the fact that he’d lied. (The conditions _were_ terrible to begin with. A village created by two ninja clans? Who put their children to war as soon as they could walk? Of course there were never any sane or safe child care laws!)

“Oh?” The Hokage raises a brow.

“Yes.” Toshiro says, pink eyes flashing, “People grow, change, evolve — there’s no reason for everything else to stay the same. No matter how good something starts as, it can always be better. That’s just the way of the world.”

“The way of the world, huh?” The Hokage murmurs, leaning back in his seat. “You really know how to make me feel like an old man, Aikawa-sensei.”

He shifts awkwardly, “I’m….sorry?”

Hiruzen waves a hand, “Ignore my ramblings. I suppose it’s high time for the next generation to blaze their own trails. The will of fire burns brightly in you.” The man sighs, wistful. “You remind me of someone.”

Kakashi’s chakra wavers.

“A good someone, I hope?” Toshiro inquires, wondering if he’s just dodged a bullet.

The Hokage grins, features heavy with nostalgia and the air significantly lighter than it had been when Toshiro first entered. “The best.”

* * *

He thinks perhaps the Hokage knows what’s happening. 

Knows that Clans are rising up, promoting change, purging the shadows from a village that claims to be the lightest in all the land. (Knows that, as much as Toshiro hates being under such a heavy gaze, it’s _Toshiro_ who brought this upon them all.)

He’d been truthful. Toshiro didn’t see what he was doing as… wildly outlandish. It seemed obvious to him. If there was a problem, you fixed it. Konoha was rife with problems, all of them fixable with a little effort. Perhaps it was radical in a shinobi village.

Scratch that, it clearly was.

But eventually someone else would desire the change Toshiro had kickstarted. It’s just the way people _worked._ Constantly shifting, constantly evolving, constantly wanting more. Living a life already had made him...freer, in a sense. It already felt like he was running on stolen time, so why not use it to incite a little rebellion in the name of peace?

(He still had other desires, other dreams of the future. But he tried his best to live without regrets, so if this current life was cut short — well, there would only be acceptance. He held no obsessive fear of death.)

Perhaps the Hokage really was feeling his age, content to let the younger generation take over and observe from the sidelines. Admirable. A little. It didn’t stop the flash of irritation Toshiro felt, because the man had no drive to take part in the change. What leader allowed himself to fade into obscurity rather than face his village head on?

(A man who made too many mistakes.)

So Toshiro respects the power the Hokage yielded, the experience and wisdom that came with hundreds of battles and decades of life. But he’s not sure he respects the Hokage as a leader, as a person who was supposed to have pledged their life to their people.

* * *

Toshiro learns to take time out of his week to visit the memorial stone. Kakashi takes his bodyguard job very seriously, but he grows irritable and morose when he’s unable to mourn for at least a few hours. It’s incredibly unhealthy. Kakashi holds his grief to his chest like a cancer. There’s so much rage and depression and regret — it’s the one poison that Toshiro has no antidote for.

Not yet.

* * *

“Please go out with me.”

Toshiro stares. 

Yamanaka Inoharu is slender and fair, just an inch shorter than Toshiro and about a year younger. She has the same pupil-less eyes as the rest of her Clan, hers an icy blue that compliments her wavy blond locks. She’s one of the Yamanaka attending the Medical Ninjutsu classes. She’s yet to miss one. Her chakra control is excellent and she’s managed to finally separate her elemental chakra from baseline chakra — and she apparently has a crush on him.

“Um.” He says, having no idea how to respond. When he’d been younger, it had been easy to turn away the girls who approached him when he first started at the hospital. He’d been a little more….mechanical back then. He feels like he’s loosened up. Grown a little softer. Plus, they’d been girls getting treatment. This?

This was someone he’d have to continue interacting with frequently. (If she continued taking the lessons after he turned her down. Because he would.)

“You don’t have to reply yet.” There’s a scarlet flush blooming across her cheeks. She fiddles with her fingers and avoids his gaze. “I know this is pretty sudden, but I really like you.”

“I’m sorry.” He cuts her off before she has the chance to add something else. His heart sinks into his stomach. Even though he’s merely being honest, he hates the idea of hurting someone else’s feelings. (Especially when shinobi are so tentative with their emotions.) “I’ve only ever considered you as a friend.”

Her expression falters.

Toshiro feels the beginning threads of panic. He doesn’t know what to do if she ends up crying — he’s so used to tears of pain, tears of emotion almost seem foreign. Which is kinda funny, seeing as he fully supports the ‘let shinobi cry’ movement.

“Oh,” she murmurs weakly. “Thank you for being honest.”

Then she leaves.

Toshiro blinks wildly at the now empty hallway. He turns and walks back into the classroom he’d just finished up teaching in. Inoharu had been the last to leave, presumably to go through with her confession. He walks over to his desk at the front and slumps into the seat. 

Kakashi flashes into the room just behind him, having been hanging out in a tree just outside the window.

“Ugh,” Toshiro drops his head face down on his desk, freckled nose smushed against the hardwood. He feels a little embarrassed, actually.

“You’re still popular as ever, I see.” Kakashi says, voice injected with detached amusement. If Toshiro didn’t know any better, he’d say the other is making fun of him.

Actually, he just might be.

“Shut up.” Toshiro mutters, words muffled. “The same thing happened to you last week.”

“It’s because you’re so nice to all of them.” Kakashi continues as if Toshiro had never spoken. “You should try being a little meaner once in a while.”

Toshiro turns his head until his cheek is pressed against the cool wood and squints his rosy eyes at the silver-haired menace. “I’m just _teaching_ them!”

“Hm.”

“I am!”

“I didn’t say anything.”

* * *

Toshiro opens his eyes when he hears the soft shutter of a camera. He’s flat on his back on the Nara’s porch, tucked in the shade with a pillow under his head and Shikamaru slumped on top of him, his little cheek pressed to Toshiro’s chest. The sun is high in the sky but they escape the worst of the heat under the awning. A faint breeze keeps the air circulating and the temperature tolerable. Cicadas chirp faintly in the grass.

Summer is in full swing.

Yoshino hovers just a foot away, a mischievous grin on her face and a camera in her hands. She’s just captured the moment, adding another picture to the collection of images highlighting various times Shikamaru has managed to use Toshiro as a napping spot.

He sends her a sheepish grin. 

“Lunch is almost ready,” she whispers. The only reason she isn’t yelling at Shikamaru to get up and _stop being lazy_ is because the image before her is adorable enough to warrant a pass. “Will you be able to wake him in a half hour?”

She’s asking because Toshiro treats Shikamaru a bit like a cat. Once the boy is sprawled on him, he can’t move. His legs have cramped up on multiple occasions because he couldn’t bring himself to move when Shikamaru had curled up in his lap. 

“I’ll do my best,” he whispers, careful not to wake the child just yet. 

Yoshino just sighs fondly and turns away, returning to the kitchen.

Toshiro runs a hand down Shikamaru’s back, feeling the boy’s chest swell with every breath. He’s not sure he’ll ever be able to have his own children, being...well, not straight. It’s a shame because he’s pretty sure he wants to be a father. Kind of a new thought, but he’s turning nineteen soon and shinobi start families young. Early twenties, sometimes even before. Civilians are about the same — though they seem more concerned with marriage and like than their shinobi counterparts.

The whole relationship thing in this reality closely resembled medieval times from back in his previous life. Arranged marriages still happened. Girls thought about love and marriage at like, _twelve,_ and in a serious manner! Civilian women were encouraged to get married as soon as possible. People in clans varied between having their entire lives planned out for them and having all the choice in the world. 

Like Itachi, who’d had a fiance chosen for him since he was a child.

Then there was Shikamaru, also a Clan Heir, who was free to marry whoever he wanted. (As long as they were a woman, he assumes. He’s not had the guts to ask any of the Clans about their stances on LGBT matters, especially in relation to their _clan heirs_ of all people, who were expected to provide their own heirs down the line.)

Toshiro has received about seven confessions since he turned down Yamanaka Inoharu. He truly hadn’t taken the whole relationship thing seriously — way too busy with a literal revolution — but it seems like the traditional values of Konoha still applied to him in some capacity. He was an eligible bachelor of marrying age, soon to be responsible for the Hospital and earn a seat on the Council, _and_ somehow allied to four major Clans. The amount of female suitors approaching him was _terrifying._

And it would only get worse as he kicked up more waves. 

He sighs heavily, turning his thoughts away from his impending doom. One day soon he’ll come out. When the time is right. (Then a whole new set of problems will likely follow.)

“Why the long sigh?”

Toshiro peers to the side. Kakashi.

He’s returned from his not-so-secret visit to the memorial stone. The man doesn’t even have to stick around while Toshiro is in the Nara Compound, but apparently he doesn’t have anything else to do aside from hang around. 

“Thinking about marriage.” He answers without thinking. Then immediately regrets it.

Kakashi tilts his head, dark eye flashing in surprise. He blinks for a moment, clearly trying to process those words. “What brought this on? Finally receive a marriage proposal?”

“As if.” Though it’s sure to happen sooner rather than later, it’s just how Konoha’s traditional culture worked. Toshiro feels his ears burn red. He clears his throat and turns his gaze down to Shikamaru slumbering away on his torso. It’s a telling maneuver.

“Ah.” Kakashi says after a moment of silence.

“Yeah.”

The other man shifts on his feet, “You….you’d make a good father.”

Toshiro feels the flush move from his ears to his cheeks. “Thanks. It’s — it’s probably not gonna happen though. I mean...”

“What?” Kakashi drawls, shoulders oddly tense. “You certainly garner enough attention to have your pick of the lot when it comes to partners.”

Toshiro absentmindedly rubs Shikamaru’s back. The boy snuffles softly and tightens his grip on Toshiro’s dark kimono top. The material bunches easily, a soft cotton. This kimono is casual, for lounging around the house. The dark navy reminds him of the Uchiha. It makes his light hair pop.

He considers Kakashi, pink eyes piercing. The other man doesn’t react to the scrutiny, though he’s far from blind to it. Maybe Toshiro doesn’t have to tell _everyone_ his sexuality. But Kakashi is the closest friend he’s ever had — at this point he’s higher on the list than _Inoka,_ if only because they’ve spent so much time together these past two months.

“They’re all women.” Is what he says, and it feels just as odd and heavy as he’d anticipated. It makes his palms sweat.

The chirping of cicadas rings in his ears, drawing out the silence.

“Oh.” It leaves Kakashi’s masked lips in a soft exhale.

Toshiro turns away, staring at the wood awning above him. He tries to tame the rampage his heart has begun, the thudding so vicious it’s certain to wake the sleeping boy whose ear is pressed close.

Kakashi clears his throat. “Well. Then I guess you’ll have to settle on adoption.”

“What?” Toshiro’s eyes grow wide. He looks back at the other man so quickly it almost hurts.

The usual veneer of disinterest is back, Kakashi’s shoulders slouched and a hand running through wild silvery locks. “There’s no way you won’t end up toting a bunch of kids around, bleeding heart that you are. Whether they’re yours in blood or not clearly doesn’t seem to matter.” A very pointed look is directed at Shikamaru.

“That’s…” He clears his throat, biting his lip so harshly he almost tastes blood. Of course it would be easy with Kakashi.

They fall into another short silence.

Toshiro laughs, teeth releasing his abused lip as his mouth curls into a wide smile. “You’re absolutely right.” He manages to say. It feels like sunshine is exploding from every pore.

Shikamaru grunts, woken by the outburst. “Hey, wha’ gives?”

* * *

The crux of it all occurs a few days before Toshiro turns nineteen (his birthday is July 1st). It’s only two weeks after his coming-out conversation with Kakashi and he still feels like he’s riding the high of it all. It’s not as if his sexualtity controls every aspect of his personality, but it’s very freeing to have someone know and accept a part of himself no one else does.

Of course it all comes to a head the day Fugaku sounds the alarm. Toshiro is woken by a fierce knocking at his door. It’s something like 2am and he has a shift the next day, so he’s not exactly happy about it — until he realizes the reason why. Then he’s rushing to the hospital with a visibly disturbed Itachi, who looks gaunt and sick, hands trembling even as he tries to hide how pained he is at the whole situation. Toshiro doesn’t have time to comfort the teen, not when his cousin gets closer to death every second he’s not being healed.

Uchiha Shisui is in critical condition, one eye in the socket and the other crushed in his fist. He’d been attacked by Danzo and Root members and barely managed to escape — in fact he’d only done so because he’d been ambushed while waiting to meet a Nara friend of his. 

(A friend who was actually not a _friend,_ but his secret _girlfriend._ That was a fact completely irrelevant for the moment, but Toshiro is sure that after everything settles down there will be some _conversations_ happening.)

She’d observed exactly what was happening and done what her Clan did best. _Execute a plan._ It ended with both of them grievously injured but alive, the eye that had been plucked from Shisui’s skull reclaimed and destroyed by his own hand. He’d been about to remove and crush the other when reinforcements had arrived, alerted by the Nara’s deer summons. 

(Honestly, after all that, if they aren’t allowed to marry then Toshiro will eat his sandals.)

Immediately, the Clans leap into action at such a blatant attack. It was exactly what they needed to solidify their accusations against Danzo

The resulting civil battle takes _days._ Toshiro takes almost no part in it, concerned with the recovery of Uchiha Shisui and Nara Hoshika. 

Danzo is found exceedingly, _disgustingly_ guilty. Kakashi informs him of this seconds before an explosion across the village rips the courtroom in half.

Toshiro looks Kakashi in the eye. “Go.”

The man wavers for a moment. “He could send someone after you. You’re the instigator of his downfall, Toshiro.”

“He was under suspicion before I came along.”

Kakashi shakes his, “Not in any way that mattered.”

Toshiro firms his gaze and sets his jaw. “I said _go,_ Kakashi.”

Kakashi goes.

* * *

“THIS HOSPITAL IS UNDER LOCKDOWN!” He screams, voice booming across the flurry of activity far louder than it ever has before. “RESTRICT FLOW, CRITICALLY INJURED ONLY! MINOR INJURIES FOR THE TENTS OUTSIDE!”

Doctors scramble to assemble the rapid relief tents outside the hospital. Movement in and out of the hospital is restricted severely to prevent any unwanted guests from coming in and out. Uchiha Shisui and Nara Hoshika are still at risk of assassination or kidnapping — Shisui more than his girlfriend. The hospital upgrades show their worth. 

Seals in each room erect barriers to prevent foriegn, unregistered chakra signatures from entering. Forcefully breaking the seals would result in setting off alarms that alert every medical professional in the building. (And administered a nasty shock to whoever did the breaking in, an idea courtesy of Kakashi, implemented by Konoha’s barrier team and a group of Nara who _taught themselves sealing within a two month period._ Honestly, that Clan was terrifying when motivated. They could take over the entire world if they wanted.)

The barriers also provide protection in case the hospital crumbles around them, walls of solid chakra able to hold up debris and solid stone for hours on end while rescue efforts are conducted. Hopefully they wouldn’t have use for that feature, but it was better to be prepared than not.

Every once in a while, the world shakes. 

Explosions of heavy chakra can be felt from all the way across the village. Shinobi direct civilians to protective bunkers under the Hokage Mountain. The Academy goes under lockdown, defenses beefed to the max due to the presence of so many Clan kids and Heirs.

Toshiro tries hard not to think about all the kids probably huddled in silence, listening to their village tear itself apart. (Everyone had always thought they’d be safe in their own homes.) He doesn’t think about Itachi, only fourteen and joining the fight against the surge of Root operatives and _Danzo_ himself. There’s no doubt in his mind that the four powerhouse clans, likely joined by the rest of the village and clans, can handle it. 

But injuries and death will be inevitable.

Toshiro grits his teeth. They should have known a man like Danzo would refuse to be jailed like the common man — he obviously thought highly of himself, thinking he could fool everyone for decades and then take over Konoha when they inevitably turned against him.

(Did he think they would _join_ him? After he took their _children?_ )

Aoyama-sensei comes down and directs the floors with ease, her sharp gaze and cold, logical orders putting a stop to panic. She’s still the hospital director, and she carries herself with the same dignity as any leader. In a few years it’ll be him in her place and he can only hope he’ll work with the same efficiency as her.

“Aikawa-sensei.” She waves a hand over, her brow furrowed. She’s outfitted in a shinobi uniform, hospital coat worn on top. All Medic Nin had shifted into the appropriate attire the second it became obvious a fight was taking place, big enough to warrant the need for their fighting abilities at a moment’s notice. Sure, they had jounin and chuunin around who would protect them — but a Medic Nin was the last line of defense. They would fight if no one else remained. 

“I need you to—”

She’s interrupted by the sharp, loud blare of an alarm. Seals on the wall swirl into existence, intricate kanji and chakra matrices stark black against the white. A number sits in the center of a sunburst looking symbol. _441._

“ _Shisui.”_ Toshiro murmurs, panic-fueled adrenaline surging through his veins. 

“Go!” Aoyama-sensei barks. 

In an instant, Toshiro uses a _shunshin_ to disappear from the main lobby, speeding right for room 441, where Shisui and Hoshika are recovering. He feels two chakra signatures close behind him. Hopefully friendly.

Nara Shikaro and Uchiha Kaname thud into place beside him, their expressions tight. He recognizes them but they haven’t interacted beyond a few sentences. Shikaro’s dark hair is pulled back in the classic Nara style, stubble heavy on his chin and an old scar slicing diagonally from his left cheekbone to the corner of his lip. Kaname has short, dark hair with an undercut and loose bangs hanging over his forehead. His features are aristocratic and pale, pinning him as an Uchiha quite easily, uchiwa symbol on his back or not. They move well together.

They must be friends.

A Root operative (because it must be, with that mask) is flat against the wall opposite room 441’s door, body smoking and limbs twitching with residue electricity. Another two operatives immediately turn to the three men, bodies smoothly transitioning into fighting stances. Toshiro steps back and his two allies move forward, creating a reverse triangle. For a single, tense moment — no one moves. Then four disappear in a flurry of movement, filling the hall with sounds of clashing weaponry and flesh meeting flesh.

Toshiro shifts to the Root operative who took the brunt of the room’s defense system. Eyes flashing and hand lit with condensed chakra, he wastes not a single second in paralyzing the man with a numbing technique, rapidly sinking his chakra into pressure points and viciously overloading a tenketsu at the base of the operative’s neck. 

(People forget how easy the human body is to take apart, if you know where to hit. And who would know better than someone trained to _fix it?)_

He’s no Hyuuga, but anyone can target a tenketsu if they memorize all the points. Of course, it’s much easier to do when the person is already immoble. There’s no way he could have done so in the middle of a fight with absolute surety. No, that skill was definitely unique to the Hyuuga.

The heat of a fire jutsu is uncomfortably close. He winces. The narrow halls of a hospital aren’t the best fighting grounds, especially for using jutsu. He hadn’t had time to change into his Chuunin uniform — but he’d managed to grab his weapons pouches. Every Medic Nin that didn’t have them on hand kept them in their lockers, or in Toshiro’s case, their office. He’d swiped them after Kakashi left, attaching them to his leg and hip with nostalgic and bitter familiarity. Though stronger now that Kakashi had overseen his training, Toshiro is still the kind of man who...just doesn’t prefer the fighting route. 

Some dealt with the trauma of war like Kakashi, improving and bettering themselves at rapid speeds and becoming obsessed with having power and strength — all to make sure they never feel the way they did during those first few fights. (But not realizing that _that_ is what they’re seeking. _I don’t want to feel weak_ has many meanings, after all.)

Others dealt with it like Toshiro. Never wanting to pick up a weapon again.

But he will if he has to.

_He will kill if he must._

Because he was raised a ninja in this life, and he surrounds himself with death by working in a hospital. If the people he cares for are threatened, or even just the innocents — those who deserve better, who have a right to life no one should ever dare take away — then he will slaughter every Root operative if it comes down to it. Would drive a kunai through Danzo’s heart without blinking.

(It’s a lofty thought, because he’s nowhere near strong enough to take out multiple Root operatives, let alone their leader. But it’s about the resolve. The _desire_ he carries to _protect, protect, protect._ He’d stand and fight even if it killed him.)

From within the pouch at his hip, he pulls a seal. To make up for his average fighting skills, he’d used his brain. Seals, chakra threads, ninja wire — tools, tool, tools. Fighting smart, not hard, had an advantage many didn’t seem to think of. Konoha was entirely too... _gryffindor,_ to quote a series from his past life. The seal in his hand is one of binding, the kanji framed with red ink. He slaps it on the downed Root operative and their body tenses, every muscle locked. It’s a bit overkill, but it’s better to be safe rather than sorry. Chakra disrupted, body numb and bound — this operative is going nowhere. _Meaning they have a potential hostage or criminal to charge._

(And Toshiro will kill them if the need arises, he’d rather have a corpse on his hands than an escaped operative.)

He looks back to the fight. It doesn’t look good. Shikaro is a Chuunin and Kaname is a Jounin, but neither are ANBU level shinobi. They’re hanging on by the skin of their teeth, and blood already decorates the tiled floor, dripping from various wounds and darkening their uniforms. Shisui and Hoshika are currently high profile targets. Normally, Toshiro wouldn’t even be a part of this, but with the two within room 441 being injured and potentially unconscious (they’d both been drifting in and out over the past few days — holy crap, he turned nineteen yesterday, didn’t he?) there’s no other place from him to be. His duty as a Medic Nin is to heal and protect his patients. Even against ANBU level shinobi.

He’s probably going to die.

Shikaro falters. Toshiro darts forward, sending kunai at the Root operative that closed in at the sign of weakness. The kunai are dodged, one blocked with the tanto in the operative’s hand. Toshiro clenches his hands and _pulls,_ the kunai spinning and returning due to the mix of chakra threads and ninja wire attached to them. 

He distracts the operative as Shikaro regains his footing, a fresh splatter of blood hitting the floor. Chakra is amazing, especially to someone who’d lived a life without it. He’d spent years studying it, from the effects on the body to the various levels of control and usage. Though his reserves are relatively average, he knows how to use them well, not wasting a drop. He _has_ to, being a Medic Nin. If anything, this job has improved his skill in that department. Which makes using thin chakra threads _child’s play._ He manipulates the kunai and ninja wire he’d let out with ease, chakra threads dancing from his fingertips. On his own and in such close quarters, it’s not as effective as he’d like. 

But he makes the Root operative bleed. A snag of ninja wire cuts into the flesh of their arm like butter. The operative is _fast,_ though. They weave and dance through his web of chakra and wire, ending up with more superficial nicks instead of gouging slices. 

_Gotcha,_ he thinks to himself upon seeing an opening, twitching his fingers to rapidly decrease the space between the cutting wire and the operative. Then, in a puff of smoke, it’s Shikaro there instead, the operative having used a replacement technique. Immediately Toshiro cuts off his attack, the chakra threads vanishing and kunai clattering to the floor.

In the next instant he’s smashed into the wall.

“Guhk!” He lets out a choked cry, chest alight with spikes of scorching pain. He’d felt his own bones crunch with the force of the hit. The wall crumbles around his figure, chunks of stones framing his fallen form. He takes a deep breath. _Focus._

It really, really hurts.

_You’ve had worse. FOCUS._

Healing chakra soothes the sharp stabs of agony.

He shifts out of the way just as a tanto jams into the wall where his head had been. Ribs still aching, he thrusts a foot out. A chakra thread emerges from his foot and sticks to the operative’s knee. The kick misses, obviously, but when the operative shifts away to dodge, Toshiro retracts his own leg and pulls the chakra thread tight.

With an audible _crunch,_ the operative’s kneecap shatters and their leg crumples. They don’t fall. They don’t move.

“ _Shadow possession complete.”_

Toshiro glances up at the distinctly feminine voice. Shikaro’s shadow is still in place, which means — 

Nara Hoshika stands in the now open door of room 441. Her dark hair is loose and wild around her shoulders, bringing out the sickly pallor of her normally tanned skin. The shapeless hospital scrubs hang off her trembling form, bandages peeking out under the fabric. Her pretty face is screwed up in concentration, sweat dripping down her temple.

Behind her is Uchiha Shisui, dressed similarly, but with the inclusion of bandages wrapped firmly around the left side of his face, where he now sports an empty eye socket. In the right spins a sharingan with a pattern Toshiro doesn’t recognize.

 _“Tsukuyomi.”_ The man says, voice rough and dry. 

The two operatives still active drop instantly. Hoshika releases her jutsu and keels forward, only to be caught by Shisui. He can barely support his own weight, so they both pitch a little to the side and lean heavily against the doorway.

“Sensei,” Shisui greets weakly. “I don’t feel so good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> toshiro - 18  
> kakashi - 22
> 
> toshiro is def ..... a hufflepuff with slytherin tendencies. also i think i messed up some of the ages bc i know sasuke/the academy 9 are supposed to be around 14 yrs younger than kakashi, but im pretty sure i accidentally made it more like 13. oops. i mean whatever, not like kishi himself knew anything about timelines....this is my rodeo now  
> ***EDIT: i fixed it bc it bugged me. kaka is now 14 years older than the academy 9 like he's supposed to be!


	7. unfurling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think toshiro would love animal crossing.... also some of u are getting CLOSE to figuring out half the plot lmaoooo and others have given me a lot of inspiration for plot points!!!!! i love u guys :,)

Toshiro swipes a hand through both Shikaro and Kaname’s blood (there is certainly plenty of it around) and folds his fingers into a series of hand signs. He presses his hand to the side of room 441’s door, ejecting a burst of chakra into the seals to allow the two men passage. 

“Inside.” He orders, then carefully pushes Shisui and Hoshika further into the room. Kaname grasps Shikaro by the elbow and drags the other man in after. 

Toshiro observes the four before him and proceeds to do what he does best.

Heal.

“You’d think a man like Danzo would have kept his agents close by.” Toshiro murmurs, wiping sweat from his brow. Shikaro and Kaname had been healed enough to leave, immediately taking the three captured nin to T&I. From the bursts of chakra and sound of distant explosions, the battle still raged.

“Do you know why he attacked me, Aikawa-sensei?” Shisui shifts under Toshiro’s healing hands, his single eye back to the usual Uchiha black. Hoshika already had her turn, and is now slumbering in the next bed over after using up so much of her energy. 

“To steal your eyes, I presume.” That’s pretty obvious, considering the current state of the other man. 

Shisui nods, keeping his voice soft so as to not wake his girlfriend. “I’ll tell you a secret, but only because you wear those earrings so candidly.”

Toshiro blinks. The cherry red earrings had become a staple in his wardrobe, he barely ever takes them out — if he even has, to his knowledge.

“The sharingan has multiple stages, the ultimate being the _mangekyou._ Each mangekyou is unique to the Uchiha who possesses it.” He raises a shaky hand up to the bandages covering the empty eye socket. “And each offers the user an….ability.”

Toshiro frowns, “So Danzo wanted yours, then. Dare I ask what your mangekyou lets you do, if the man was willingly to attempt a second retrieval?”

Shisui offers a wry grin, “Probably best if I keep that to myself, no offense.”

He shakes his head, “None taken, Uchiha-san.”

“Ugh,” Shisui wrinkles his nose, distaste obvious in the tone of his voice. “Please, there’s too many Uchiha for you to refer to me as such. ‘Sides, we’re the same age! Call me Shisui! And don’t you dare add some stuffy suffix, either!”

“Shisui.” Toshiro says, unable to help the smile from pulling at his lips. “Feel free to call me Toshiro, then.”

The man settles back, grinning cheekily, “This makes us friends, right?”

* * *

Danzo made a mistake. Perhaps his plan would have worked if not for Hoshika’s presence. They’ll never know. As Toshiro looks down at their sleeping forms, he only feels glad that things happened the way they did. 

* * *

Danzo is dead and the hospital is crammed to full capacity. All those medical ninjutsu classes finally come in handy, with multiple students at a basic enough level to aid in caring for the injured, even in a minor sense. 

Over half the Root nin were killed, the rest incapacitated and currently being processed at T&I. Toshiro only knows the barest amount of details via overhearing shinobi talk as the hospital fills up and overflows to the tents set up outside. There were multiple casualties on their side too, and they’d already lost a few to their injuries. It’s brutal work, pulling their hands off a shinobi who dies beneath them and immediately moving on to the next without pause. Toshiro doesn’t allow himself to think about it. If he does, they could lose more. He can’t afford to be distracted, can’t afford to care who’s bleeding out on the operating table.

(You must kill your emotions to heal.)

_Be pragmatic._

Heal. Heal. Heal. Move on. Heal. Move on. Heal. Heal. Heal.

Until exhaustion pulls at his bones and he sags under the weight of it, a headache blooming behind his eyes. His chakra reserves are depleted, his muscles cramped and aching. You can work as tirelessly as humanly possible, but once you’re out of chakra it’s useless to continue. Toshiro pulls away, scarfs down a bento box prepared by an Akimichi — the whole clan passing around food to recovering citizens, shinobi and civilians alike — and passes out on the futon in his office.

When he wakes up ten hours later, the world has changed again.

He leaves his office, groggy, aching, chakra not even half-recovered, and finds Uchiha Mikoto outside, hand raised to knock.

“Oh,” he says, stepping back before he bowls her over. “Uchiha-sama, I’m sorry. I didn’t notice you there.”

“It’s no trouble.” She says, her face lined with stress. It doesn’t look like she’s slept at all. “You’re being summoned to the Hokage’s office.”

He furrows his brow. “Shouldn’t Aoyama-sensei be—”

Mikoto shakes her head, halting his words. “Your presence is being requested as an Ally, not as a Council Member. Aoyama-sensei still holds her seat.”

“Ah,” he replies lowly, rubbing remnants of sleep from weary eyes. “I see. Please, lead the way then.”

* * *

The Hokage is grim faced and bruised, moving slower than usual as he seats himself down at his desk. Every ninja in the room is injured in some manner. A decent portion of the village has been leveled by the fight, displacing more than a few businesses and about sixteen blocks of residential space. Rebuilding will take months, and hundreds of people are without homes or have lost their places of work. 

Fugaku is in a wheelchair, dressed in a gray kimono that poorly conceals the amount of bandages wrapped around his skin. He’s missing half of his right leg from the knee down. Itachi sits beside him, also dressed in loose clothes and covered in bandages. He’s not missing any limbs but there’s a freshly healed scar, still pink with new, fragile skin, slicing diagonally from above the teen’s left eyebrow to the bridge of his nose, narrowly missing his left eye. It appears as though someone tried to take out his biggest weapon — his eyes — and ultimately failed, but not without leaving a permanent mark.

Shikaku and Inoichi look battered and bruised, but don’t have any new visible scars to showcase. Understandable, seeing as neither are frontline fighters. Inuzuka Tsume, Aburame Shibi, Hyuuga Hiashi and two elders that Toshiro recognizes from the Council are also present.

Tsume’s right hand is wrapped in bandages and Hiashi’s arm is bound tightly in a sling, his fingers twitching on occasion.

Toshiro is the least injured out of all of them, the two elders aside. He’s also the last to arrive, gaining the attention of everyone when he enters the room. The two elders scowl in his direction and he — frankly, is so tired he ignores them.

“Hokage-sama.” He greets, eyes flickering over everyone and taking stock of all their injuries.

“Aikawa-sensei.” The Hokage sighs deeply. “Thank you for joining us, there’s much to be discussed.”

He isn’t sure where this table came from, or how exactly they got it in the room, but he takes a seat in the open space beside Itachi. It seems a little odd for him to be here, in his opinion, it’s not like he’s a member of a Clan — or the leader of one.

“Danzo’s crimes exist beyond his death.” Fugaku begins, expression sharp and unforgiving. He looks like the man Toshiro first met, when he strolled up to ask about making a deal. “His demise does not forgive them.”

“Do ya know how many teenagers we put down today?” Tsume chips in, sharp teeth flashing. “And where are the rest, huh?”

Shibi follows his friend’s statement with one of his own. “It’s likely kidnapped children remain, too young and untrained to be used in battle. Why make this assumption? Because the list of missing brought to court contained those ages ten and under. All Root operatives faced today were at least fourteen.”

Hiruzen lets out a gusty sigh, “Shikaku, Inoichi, can I trust you to find the rest of the missing children?”

“Yes.” Shikaku replies, one hand prodding at his temple. There’s a grimace on his face that speaks of a headache. “The issue is what to do with a bunch of traumatized kids after the fact.”

Inoichi’s sigh mirrors the weight of the Hokage’s. “We’ll figure something out. My Clan will have their work cut out for them, but we’ll do the best we can. Integrating them back into the public will depend on the state of every individual.”

“The orphanages may not be able to handle the influx of children if it comes down to it, not when most of our resources will go into rebuilding the damage to the village.” Toshiro murmurs quietly. Everyone hears, however, for no matter how low he speaks he’s still in the company of elite ninja. “And with kids like that, who will no doubt need a serious support system for perhaps even _years_ depending on the extent of psychological trauma and conditioning, they can’t be shoved into apartments and left to their own devices.”

 _That kind of thing doesn’t even work well for_ untraumatized _kids._ He doesn’t say, though he desperately wants to. It’s not the concern right now.

“We can’t figure out a plan until we have all the facts.” Shikaku points out, frowning, “We’ll continue this line of discussion once we’ve located any remaining children and assessed their condition.”

Fugaku slams a hand down on the table, “There are _Clan children_ among them! What Danzo has done is play us all for fools!” He levels a venomous glare at the Hokage, “You were too lenient with him, there is no return from such an act.”

Everyone in the room shifts uncomfortably at his aggressive words, though no one speaks up.

Well. Almost no one.

“Watch your tone! That is your Hokage you’re speaking to,” The Elder woman snaps, “You will show some respect!”

“I am _Uchiha Fugaku,_ Head of the Uchiha Clan and responsible for people Danzo has targeted for _years_ under the nose of a Hokage who allowed poison to fester at the very heart of our village. _YOU_ WILL WATCH YOUR TONE WITH _ME.”_ The man snarls in response. “I am not in the mood for your desperate, simpering words. You may be an Honorable Elder and part of the Council, but you have no place in Clan business. Your close relationship with Danzo has already placed you on thin ice, need I remind you?”

The woman snaps her mouth shut, face twisting into an expression of deep offense. The man at her side bristles as well, and tensions in the room rise to a palpable degree.

“Fugaku.” Shikaku says, leveling a look at the man. “We _will_ find them.”

Fugaku exhales harshly, his eyes flashing red.

“Turn those off.” Toshiro immediately snaps without thinking. “Your chakra levels are _abysmal_ right now, do you have any idea how dangerous—”

Itachi lets out a laugh, disguising it as a cough at the last second. Though not soon enough for anyone to _not_ know what it was. Toshiro pauses in his rant and flushes down to his neck. Tsume roars in laughter, smacking her unbandaged palm on the table in explosive mirth.

Fugaku blinks slowly, his eyes returning to black. The corners of his mouth twitch but do not blossom into a smile. “As you say, sensei.”

The tension in the room cools, though the two Elders still look exceedingly grumpy. 

_Good,_ Toshiro thinks to himself as the flush on his skin recedes. _They’d only feel so offended if they_ were _guilty, so they will have no pity from me._

“In light of these recent events...I have decided to step down from my post as Hokage.” 

Everyone freezes, directing their gazes to Hiruzen with a wide range of emotion.

“It is true that my actions, or perhaps my _inactions,_ are to blame for this current tragedy. The village has torn itself apart while under my care, and no amount of reparation from myself could ever make up for it.” The man meets all of their eyes steadily and individually, relaying his seriousness. “I’ve recalled my student, Jiraiya, and asked him to attempt to bring in Tsunade as well. My hope is that one of them may fill in until a suitable Hokage is found for a more permanent replacement. That being said, when taking into account the specific targeting of and crimes against the various Clans, in order to regain a little more balance within Konoha…. I nominate Uchiha Itachi as my successor, and implore him to take the mantle of Godaime Hokage when he comes of age.”

As expected, what follows next is an uproar.

* * *

In the end, Itachi will be Godaime upon turning sixteen.

(That’s two years away.)

Toshiro is pretty sure he almost saw Fugaku cry.

* * *

Work continues at the hospital. All deaths are noted, corpses sealed and moved to the morgue for further processing and preparation for burial. Most shinobi are set to be cremated as a precaution against the theft of DNA, jutsu or kekkei genkai. There’s far too much to be done, and Toshiro has very little time to catch up with anyone for days. He’s been sleeping in his office the whole time, using the employee showers when he’s able and being force fed food by worried Akimichi clan members.

(He keeps forgetting to eat. The stress of everything ruins his appetite.)

Shikaku visits him, looking haggard but almost fully healed.

“We located nineteen children.” 

Toshiro takes a shaky breath, adjusting the position of his little mint plant in a bout of nervous energy. “There were thirty-seven _confirmed_ orphans missing. _Eighteen_ potential Clan children.” 

Shikaku lowers his gaze, eyes closing momentarily. “We located nineteen children.” He repeats softly. “Along with evidence that there were many more. It seems the training they were put through resulted in a high death count.”

A burst of rage flashes through Toshiro’s body. His face twists into a scowl, and it feels odd and awful on his face. _Angry_ has never been an adjective to describe Toshiro. But he can’t help the absolute fury coursing through him at the thought of so many dead children. The only consolation was that the whole thing was over.

“Of the children retrieved, eight were orphans. One Yamanaka. Two Akimichi. Four Uchiha. Two Inuzuka. One Aburame. One Hyuuga.” Shikaku finishes, giving Toshiro a moment to run over the numbers.

That meant twenty-nine orphaned children were dead. Two Yamanaka, three Uchiha, one Inuzuka, and one Aburame also dead. He presses his hands to his face. So much blood spilled under their noses. Children who thought they were safe in their homes, not knowing that it was that very home that was unsafe.

“I presume the Clans are taking responsibility for their respective retrieved children?” He finally says, scrubbing his hands down his face before propping them on his hips. “What of the eight orphans left?”

“They’re remaining with the Yamanaka Clan right now. At least until it’s decided they’re mentally capable of returning to normal society.”

Toshiro bites his lip, “Okay. Then I suppose I’ll have to speed up my orphanage reforms. It wouldn’t do for them to return and then get tossed on their asses.”

Shikaku huffs a brittle laugh, “What you said a few days ago is correct. These children will likely always carry the effects of their time under Danzo’s control. Giving them stability to recover and then taking that away would only be detrimental. Unfortunately, the Yamanaka, Uchiha and Nara Clans are going to be extremely busy picking up this mess we’ve found ourselves in.”

“Which is where I and my Clan come in.” A voice announces, and both men turn to see Aburame Shibi in the doorway. “Why? Because the Aburame Clan has just as many resources as any other, and a vested interest in making sure this never happens again. Is that acceptable, Aikawa-sensei?”

Shikaku and Toshiro exchange a short glance. Nodding grimly, Toshiro steps forward and meets Shibi’s gaze with blazing peach-pink eyes. 

“I look forward to working with you, Aburame-sama.”

* * *

“Shiro-chan!” Shisui calls, limping over to Toshiro and throwing an arm over his shoulders. The man is a year younger but some four inches taller, so easily coddles Toshiro into his space. They proceed like that down the hall towards the main lobby.

“Shisui.” He replies with faint amusement. The other man had gotten it into his head that they were something like best friends now, and Toshiro wasn’t mad about it. “You’re very energetic today. Happy to be let free?”

“Oh, absolutely! I feel like I’ve been going half out of my mind layin’ around all day.” The Uchiha sighs, releasing Toshiro to stretch his arms over his head. “Not that I didn’t _love_ having the constant company of my darling Hoshi-chan!”

“I’m pretty it was _you_ driving everyone _else_ out of their minds.” Toshiro raises a brow cheekily. “And there’s probably a reason Hoshika ditched you and left earlier.”

“That is incredibly hurtful.”

“Really? Wounded by words? I’d hate to see you in a fight.” 

Shisui laughs, knocking their shoulders together. “What a deceptive face you wear, Shiro-chan. So pretty yet so biting….”

“Please,” Toshiro says, half-smirking. It’s funny, having a friend that’s about his age. “What would Hoshika say if she heard you?”

“She’d probably ask to join.” The man replies with equal parts mischief and flirtation, smiling like a shark. 

“Shisui.” 

They both glance up to see Itachi, who’s standing rather awkwardly by the reception desk. The scar on his face is still eye-catchingly fresh, but it’s not particularly large — nor does it take away from his pretty features. Fourteen and already growing into quite the good-looking fellow, as is the curse of the Uchiha. Toshiro has witnessed firsthand the gaggle of fans the poor boy has.

“Itachi,” Shisui smiles, ignoring the way the younger boy’s gaze flickers to the bandages around the left side of his face. “How unfair of you to pull off a facial scar with such grace.”

Itachi’s lips pull into a reluctant grin, something like exasperation on his youthful face. “I’d say the same about you, but…”

Shisui gasps in mock outrage, turning to Toshiro. "Did you hear that, Shiro-chan? The absolute disrespect!”

Toshiro rolls his eyes. “Oh, just leave already.”

“Toshiro.” Itachi murmurs, cutting off Shisui’s next quip. “Kakashi-san wanted me to tell you that he’s okay. Just busy.”

“Ah,” he murmurs, unable to stop the soft smile of relief. “I was getting a little worried about that guy.”

“And my father wants to let you know that if you’re willing, there’s a few eligible Uchiha able to enter a marriage contract—”

Shisui throws back his head and _cackles._

“Ahhh! I don’t wanna know!” Toshiro turns around quickly, throwing a wave over his shoulder, “Itachi, take your cousin home and make sure he rests!”

“Sensei—” Itachi calls.

“Nope! Can’t talk right now! Med-Nin duties calling!”

* * *

With Danzo out of the way and Root disbanded, there’s no need for Toshiro to live with the Nara. He’s able to return to his home. It’s hard, especially with how comfortable he’d gotten. Leaving the domestic, family atmosphere made him feel a little...sad. Plus, Shikamaru ended up taking it pretty hard. Pouting the way a nine year old who denied the fact that he was pouting did. 

“What,” Toshiro says, stuck in his usual position of running a hand through Shikamaru’s hair while the boy used him as a mattress. “Mad that your personal heater is leaving?”

The boy presses his forehead tight against Toshiro’s chest, little hands gripping his kimono. “What a drag,” he murmurs, petulant, “Even if we never napped together again I wouldn’t want you to go.”

Heart in his throat, Toshiro moves his hands away from the boy’s dark hair to wrap around him and _squeeze,_ letting out a sigh as Shikamaru starts complaining loudly. “You’re so cute, Shikamaru-kun! Ah, I’m really gonna miss you….”

The ages are a bit wrong — Shikaku and Yoshino are a little too young to be considered his parents, but Shikamaru is about the age of….well, a younger brother. And the way they’d all acted around each other had felt just like a family. For a guy who’d spent his second childhood as an orphan who’d had to raise himself, the experience was scarily addictive. 

“If I were to have a little brother,” he says softly into Shikamaru’s wild hair, “I’d wish him to be just like you.”

Shikamaru stops struggling, his fingers momentarily tightening their grip on Toshiro’s clothes. “You don’t need some dumb little brother like that. You already have me.”

* * *

“Come by often, okay?” Yoshino frets, brushing imaginary dust from Toshiro’s shoulders and glancing skeptically around his apartment. She seems especially wary of his kitchen. “Really, are you sure you don’t want to come back for dinner tonight? You can barely cook!”

Shikaku makes a face at him behind her back.

Toshiro laughs lightly, “Give me a few days to settle back in! I’ll be around before you know it.” _If he went back tonight then he may never leave._

“I know where you live now.” Shikamaru announces, slouching at his father’s side. 

Toshiro smirks. “How ominous.”

“We’ll see you around, Toshiro.” Shikaku says, dropping a hand on his son’s head. “Sooner rather than later, with the way the world is right now.”

“Of course. There’s a lot of work to be done.”

Shikamaru sighs, shaking his father’s hand off and kicking at the floor. “What a troublesome big brother.”

* * *

Toshiro stands alone in his apartment, wondering how his mood could possibly drop so low within hours after the Nara’s returned to their own home. The silence feels grating now, even if the Nara weren’t particularly loud — aside from Yoshino, who certainly was — so he supposes what he really misses if the feel of their chakra. Their presence. Knowing he could stroll into the next room and find one of them there.

(He really had gotten attached, hadn’t he?)

All his things had been brought over today, unsealed from storage scrolls and put away under the watchful eye of Yoshino. There was even food from her in the fridge. A smile played at corners of his mouth, she was only thirteen or so years older, but mothered him as if he were her own. 

A familiar chakra signature breaks him out of his stupor.

Toshiro moves quickly to his door and pulls it open, revealing the silver-haired, lax figure of Hatake Kakashi. The taller man throws up a two-fingered salute.

“Yo.”

Toshiro smiles indulgently, pulling the door open wider to let the man in. “You certainly had me worried.” He surreptitiously looks over Kakashi, checking for any possible new scars. Hard to do when the man has ninety percent of his body covered. 

Kakashi shrugs and steps in, “Sorry. Business to take care of.”

“Were you injured? I presume you fought?”

“You would presume correct,” the ANBU nin replies. “And not as badly as others were. Still have all my limbs, for one.”

“Uchiha-sama’s recovery has gone remarkably well.” Toshiro says, thinking of the proud man currently struggling with the adjustment of having only one complete leg.

Kakashi nods, “So I’ve heard.”

They end up on the couch again, after Toshiro putters around the kitchen to make his favorite mint tea with the leaves he’d received from Yoshino. The heat from the cup warms his fingers as he settles under a mound of plush blankets. 

“Are you allowed to tell me what kept you so busy?” He asks after a few sips and minutes of contemplative silence. He keeps his gaze away from Kakashi so the man can drink his tea without worrying about revealing his face.

“Ah, well, after the fight I spent some time in the hospital. Then I ended up on the squad that tracked the location of the Root hideouts. We found the kids, I’m sure Shikaku-sama already told you.”

Toshiro nods, “He did.”

“Then...I crashed a Council meeting.”

Toshiro blinks down at his cup, catching himself before he turns to Kakashi out of shock. “You...crashed a Council meeting?”

Kakashi makes an affirming sound. “Some guy I know kept telling people to _do_ things if you had the power to. Guess I got a little inspired.”

Toshiro grips his cup tightly, the heat searing his palm. His chest feels funny.

“So I announced to the Council that I’m taking up the Hatake Clan’s seat. It’s been abandoned for decades and the Hatake aren’t particularly... _active_ anymore, but as the defacto Hatake Clan Head I was able to reclaim the position.”

“They let you?” Toshiro exclaims, thrown so far off guard he doesn’t think at how rude his words are. “But you said it yourself, your Clan is essentially just…. _you._ ”

“And why give power to a single person?” Kakashi concludes Toshiro’s thought process, still slumped against the couch and giving no indication that he’s offended by Toshiro’s disbelief. “Well, for one, the Hatake Clan still has a huge amount of stock in various businesses, as well as a family-bound contract with nin-dogs who prove to be valuable assets for infiltration. And second...there’s no one to tell me how I run my Clan. Since the Hatake have no kekkei genkai or special technique, it’s not as if blood relations and direct heirs are particularly important. All Konoha needs is the money and resources we provide. Meaning I can adopt people into my Clan as I see fit. The Council decided I would be allowed to take up the seat if _and only if_ I increased the population of my Clan.”

Toshiro can’t help it, he turns to the man. The mask is already up, so he doesn’t feel guilty. Rosy eyes wide, he stares, beseeching, voice coming out soft and near-breathless. “What are you saying?”

“ _I’m saying_ I’m suddenly the guardian of eight traumatized orphans. Help?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kakashi: so can u co-parent or  
> also kakashi: i got u kids, pls love me


	8. fragile stems

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some serious uwu's for u

“Kakashi.”

“Yes?”

Toshiro puts his cup of tea on the coffee table. “You have no idea how to handle children.”

“Hmmm, I suppose not.” The man replies with an irritating sort of casualness.

“Eight. You took in  _ all eight _ of them.”

Kakashi scratches at his nose, eyes curving to hint at a mock smile. “As I said.”

“Eight!” Toshiro exclaims, wide-eyed and wondering what exactly went through Kakashi’s mind when he made such a decision. The man was hardly the paragon for healthy living! “Eight traumatized children!”

“Ah,” Kakashi holds a finger up, “You’re forgetting a noun.  _ Prodigy. _ Eight orphaned, traumatized prodigies. Danzo certainly had standards.”

“Oh my Sage,” Toshiro murmurs, “You really  _ are  _ going to need help, otherwise Konoha will end up with eight mini versions of  _ you.” _

Kakashi squints, “That almost felt insulting.”

“Good, I meant it to be.” He points a threatening finger at the silver-haired menace. “You are a Medic’s  _ worst nightmare.” _

“I always feel so nice after speaking with you.” Kakashi drawls flatly. “Really, flattery makes me blush.”

Toshiro runs a hand through his hair, tugging out the tie holding it up. His ash blond hair tumbles around his shoulders, now long enough to reach just below his collarbones. He leans back into the couch with a hefty sigh, flicking the hair tie away without care of where it might land. They fall into a brief silence while Toshiro lets this new reality sink in.

There’s no way Kakashi can care for eight children, traumatized or not. He’s an elite ANBU, presumably going back on duty now that Toshiro didn’t need ‘bodyguarding’. Definitely not a suitable guardian. The kids are all old enough to attend the academy, being between the ages of six and ten, so once the Yamanaka clear them it shouldn’t be difficult to sign them up. That took care of a good chunk of the day, at least. 

_ That is, assuming they want to become Shinobi at all. _ That could be another potential issue. Not  _ problem, _ because there’s no way Toshiro would consider it as such — these kids should be allowed to choose whichever path they want. 

Toshiro could see about changing his hours. 

_ What the hell. I’m already thinking like I’m gonna play some big role in their lives…. _ He glances at Kakashi, who’s staring right back.  _ Ah, who am I kidding? Like I could just sit back and watch… _

“It’s not like me to be so spontaneous.” Kakashi says, breaking their short silence. “I realize that I’m asking you to aid me in a...situation of my own design. I was the one who leapt without looking this time, and I suppose it didn’t hit me until later what it really meant to be responsible for eight kids.”

“I can’t say I’m not surprised.” Is what Toshiro replies, because he won’t lie. This really did catch him off guard. “Something like this does seem out of character for you, but at the same time….I feel as though some part of you….relates to them. Those kids.”

Kakashi is silent, his lone eye half-lidded and peering emptily down at the cooling tea he still holds. 

“Who better to understand them then...you?” Toshiro continues, voice growing softer with every word. “It may have felt spontaneous, or very spur of the moment, but the path that led you there was one created by your need to  _ help.” _

“Have me all figured out, do you?” The ANBU member whispers, finally pulling his gaze from the now-cold liquid and spearing Toshiro with a look of great intensity. “I think you believe me to be a better man than I really am.”

“Maybe….”

Kakashi huffs, “Then you should know that I wasn’t even thinking of those kids. I was only thinking of how to get that Seat on the Council.”

Toshiro reaches a hand out and viciously pinches Kakashi’s arm.

“Ow!” The man exclaims, looking more shocked than pained at the action.

“Let me finish my sentence.” Toshiro meets the other’s man’s eye with an intense look of his own, “You realize my words about change and evolution, about not settling for the  _ now _ and looking to be better — they don’t just apply to Konoha as a village or the systems currently in place. It applies to  _ us. _ We become different people as we grow, molded by our experiences, the places we go and the people we meet...so maybe I do see you as a man better than the person you are right now.  _ But that’s the Kakashi of today. _ And not to be insensitive, but you don’t have a high opinion of yourself to begin with, so forgive me if I don’t trust the self-assessment you’ve crafted about your character.”

He takes a deep breath and shifts his pinching fingers to curl gently around Kakashi’s arm. “Now look me in the eye and tell me you really thought nothing of those kids aside from using them to further your own agenda.”

The muscles of Kakashi’s arm tremble under Toshiro’s grip, the man’s entire body frozen in shock and his dark eye blown wide. He looks at Toshiro like he’s never seen him in his life. “I—” He swallows visibly, cloth covered throat bobbing. After a short pause his shoulders loosen and slump, something like resignation in his posture.  _ “Of course I didn’t.” _

Toshiro smiles brightly, intense relief exploding in his chest. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Kakashi, but getting to know someone and letting them in is a long and arduous process in the shinobi world. It feels like with  _ this, _ they’ve just hopped over a huge hurdle. 

(The bond between them has deepened.)

“We really have to work on that whole  _ painting yourself as the villain _ thing you do.” He says, giving Kakashi’s arm a gentle squeeze before releasing the limb and dropping his hand back into his lap.

Kakashi rubs gently at his temple, looking drained. “Yeah? Only if you work on that lack of self-interest.”

“My what?”

The ANBU nin pulls Toshiro’s favorite rose-print blanket around himself and sinks further into the couch cushions, an expression in his lone eye that would better fit a petulant child. “The whole  _ I’m no one, I’m not important, nothing I do is ever really relevant because anyone can do it _ thing. Maybe you do have me figured out, but that street goes both ways, Toshiro.”

The warm feeling slips down the drain, discomfort twisting in his gut. He turns his rose-hued eyes away, looking around the room but not settling on anything in particular. “I…”

“I’ve been watching you just as closely as it seems you’ve been watching me.” Kakashi mutters. “You don’t care about yourself. You look out for everyone, you’re kind to everyone — even if you’re blunt about it — but you ignore yourself. You think you don’t matter.”

Toshiro grits his teeth. 

The thing is, Kakashi’s right.

And Toshiro hates that.

He doesn’t want to think about himself. Because then he has to remember the fact that this is his second life — and that means that his existence has always been shrouded in pain. He’d had a family before, in that first life. A mother and father. A sister. A whole gaggle of cousins and aunts and uncles — he’d had a  _ life. An honest to god  _ life. The man he’d been had wanted to be a writer, wanted to settle down with his boyfriend and write books until he grew so old his hands cramped and he couldn’t write anymore. Had wanted to marry that other man, his boyfriend. Being reborn wasn’t a  _ reset. _ It wasn’t an escape. It was waking up as a two year old in a military-based village at war with  _ no one.  _

And realizing he couldn’t think about that or he’d die again. Sometimes he wishes he did. The only thing that got him through  _ any _ of it was seeing the children of Konoha die around him. Morbid, yes. But the sight of such tragedies of war burned itself into an already wrecked, mourning brain. 

And so he found something to live for.

To use these stolen years for.

_ Stopping that from ever happening again. _

“I’ve hurt you.”

Toshiro glances up sharply. He doesn’t say a word, tongue too heavy and throat too dry.

Kakashi eyes him with an inscrutable emotion. “I won’t apologize.”

Swallowing, Toshiro shuts his eyes tight, pretending the burn he feels doesn’t exist. He doesn’t really want to cry, but the bombardment of emotions he’d wanted to forget is making it increasingly difficult to  _ not. _ “What a pair we make.”

Kakashi huffs in amusement. “Perfectly suited to raise some kids, don’t you think?”

Toshiro groans, then tries to laugh. The noise comes out more like a choked cough. He tilts his head back against the couch and throws an arm over his eyes. “We’ve become different people today, so I truly hope so.”

* * *

Kakashi isn’t sorry.

The pain he sees in Toshiro’s eyes? He equates it to an infected wound. You don’t apologize for scraping the pus and muck out of a wound so you can clean and heal it. All he’d done was call attention to the injury.

(And announce his intention to do something about it.)

Because Kakashi recognizes the sullen silences, the weary, blank look that occasionally takes over Toshiro’s face when he thinks others aren’t looking. He sees his father in the fake smiles on Toshiro’s mouth. He sees his father in the grim, grave set to Toshiro’s brow when his insides are screaming but he refuses to cry.

He sees his father.

Dead. By his own hand.

(Oh god, that room smells like blood, like his father’s blood. He can’t bear the sight of that gaudy tape wrapped around the room, or the ugly stain left behind. So he leaves, throws that part of him away until — until he realizes….)

Everyone dies.

But his father had been right. It was  _ Konoha _ who’d been wrong. Wrong to tear him down until he’d been a shell.  _ Until he’d gutted himself because it was less painful than breathing. _

And Kakashi would tear the Konoha of today down to erect the vision Toshiro strove for if it meant he’d never have to walk into a room to find the man’s body on the ground, still and silent. Flesh torn by his own blade. Smiling at oblivion with unseeing eyes.

(Not again. Not again. Not again.)

_ I just don’t want anyone else to die. _

(Sage, why couldn’t they just stop dying?)

* * *

“I have half a mind to retire right this moment.” Aoyama-sensei says, sitting at her desk with her hands clasped before her, eyes rolled up to the ceiling like it holds all the answers.

Toshiro laughs, “As if you’d  _ actually _ retire. I have no doubt you’d take over some of the Medical Ninjutsu classes and stay on as a doctor.”

She sighs, shaking her head and finally offering a wry grin. “Oh, hush you, let me fantasize. In all seriousness, Aikawa-sensei, when Uchiha Itachi steps up as Godaime Hokage, you’ll step up as Hospital Director.”

He blinks. It’s not like the information is...new. They’d talked for years about him being the next Director. “Ah. Feels a bit weird to have a definite date.”

“Which means you need to pick someone as your successor for the Shinobi Trauma Team.”

“Tsutomu Hanako.” He says without hesitation. “I want her in charge.”

Aoyama-sensei smiles, “Don’t try to sell that pitch to me, kid. It’ll be your decision. But, about what you came here for...I can adjust your hours. We’re more staffed than we’ve ever been before, and you of all people deserve a little time off. You’ll have fewer hours but remain on call at all times, as is expected of all Medic Nin.”

Toshiro nods in assent. “Thank you.”

“And before you head out, I thought you’d like to know that Yukimura-sensei has returned from her sabbatical.”

* * *

Yukimura Nana left Konoha shortly after Toshiro turned fifteen. For over fours years she’s been traversing  _ Hi no Kuni, _ teaching and sharing medical knowledge with various towns and villages under their protection. 

(When outsiders thought of  _ Hi no Kuni, _ they thought of Konoha. The pride of the daimyo, the Hidden Village that birthed shinobi, but not the only village out there.)

She is also the person who taught Toshiro how to use Medical Ninjutsu. The person his long haired look is inspired by. He’d approached her at only ten years of age, shadows of war in his eyes but a stack of books in his arms. Eager to learn. Eager to heal. Eager to fix the world for future generations. He’d been a veritable robot back then, fueled solely by logic and compartmentalizing everything. It’d been the only way for him to function with a head full of loss and battle.

She’d taught him how to be kind.

He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten how.

So he stands at her door, knocking out of politeness more than anything. There’s no doubt she’d already sensed his approach. 

She opens the door.

Four years haven’t aged her. At thirty-seven, she looks exactly as she did when she left. Her dark brown hair tied up in a loose bun, her blue eyes soft and perpetually a little on the droopy side, making her appear tired. She’s beginning to get laughter lines and crow’s feet, but the wrinkles remain light.

“Toshiro.” She greets with a smile, dressed in loose, comfortable clothes in basic shinobi blue. “You’ve grown.”

“Not vertically, I assure you.” He replies dryly.

“No,” she agrees, laughing, “But I thought it rude to mention.”

“You look like you had fun.” There’s a light in her eyes. One had always been present, of course — but she looks happy. “I take it everything went well?”

Nana lets him inside. Her home is a bit larger than his, the appliances a little more updated and her layout far different. She has a mudroom entrance that leads right into a hall, the first room on the right being the kitchen — there’s no door, just a wide, open arch. There  _ is _ a door right across from it on the left, which opens into a bathroom. A little further down and the hall opens into a living room, which also holds two doors. One to the bedroom and another to an office space. Toshiro recognizes it all. He spent countless hours here, studying and blowing up fish.

He toes off his sandals and follows her into the kitchen. It looks like she’s half-way through putting away fresh groceries, restocking after the long trip.

“It went wonderful!” She says, resuming her task. He seats himself at the table. “Will you be staying for dinner?”

“As long as I’m not called on.”

“Hm.” Nana hums, her back to him. “I heard about what you did. The whole hospital has changed.”

Toshrio bites back the instinctive response to deny that he did anything important, Kakashi’s words ringing in his head. “It...took some effort.”

Nana glances back at him. “Yes, I don’t doubt it. Still, you took the leap. And look where you landed!” She sends him another sunny smile. “Konoha feels a little brighter, don’t you think?”

He finds himself grinning in return, though with slightly less exuberance. “Yes. I do.”

They speak long into the night, talking about Nana’s journey and the changes Konoha has weathered. Food grows cold and ends up needing to be reheated. They sit through three rounds of tea each. Nana plans on returning to the hospital to work. She’s interested in the Medical Ninjutsu classes. Toshiro mentions his orphanage reforms, his desire to improve the child care systems. She asks him about the people in his life.

_ “You have friends now. I’m happy.” _

He tells her about the Nara, about Inoka and Inoichi, about Uchiha Fuyumi. About Fugaku’s attempt at roping him into a marriage contract. 

He tells her about Shisui and Itachi and Hoshika.

He tells her about Kakashi.

* * *

Then he mentions the  _ eight kids _ situation.

* * *

The first meeting with the eight children is not a group event. He meets them individually, so he can get a feel of their personalities and progress. Kakashi sits beside him as each child is brought in, as he’s now their Clan Head — and has the honor of telling them that fact.

Actually, Toshiro shouldn’t really be part of this, because he’s not a Hatake. But Kakashi had been reluctant to meet with them alone, having no idea how to talk to normal people, let alone children. 

They start oldest to youngest.

The first child is a girl. Ten years old. Her short, brutally chopped hair is strawberry blonde and her eyes a crystal blue. She sits with her back straight and doesn’t speak unless spoken to. She has no name, can’t remember the one she’d had before Danzo. She doesn’t seem violent, just quiet. Resigned to be whatever anyone molds her into.

“What would you like to be called?” Toshiro asks, and her brows furrow in response. It’s one of the few signs of emotion she’s displayed. 

“I have no preference.”

He flattens his mouth into a line before it quirks down into a frown. He doesn’t want to show displeasure and give her the wrong impression. “Think about it. Next time we’ll go through a book of names and you can pick the one you want.”

“For what purpose?” She asks.

Kakashi shifts uncomfortably at his side. 

Toshiro softens his features, doing his best to keep his expression as open as possible. “Finding yourself.”

The second is nine. A boy with skin the color of paper, with hair and eyes the same shade of black. He looks like a wraith and doesn’t emote. There’s a look in his eye that reminds Toshiro a bit of himself. (It looks like loss. Stamped out with force.) He also has no name and spends most of their time together in a sullen silence.

The third is another boy, also nine. Light brown hair and steel gray eyes. No name.

The fourth is a nine year old girl. Lavender hair and eyes the color of caramel. No name.

The fifth is an eight year old boy. Dirty blond hair and matching gold eyes, a scar across his right cheekbone and a chunk of that ear missing. He tells them his name is Haruki.

The sixth is a seven year old boy named Touma, his black hair curls around his ears and his eyes are a stunning shade of lilac. He seems a little more upbeat than the others, which hints that he spent less time in the Root base than the others.

The seventh is a six year old girl who doesn’t speak, not once. Her hair is a shade of mahogany that looks like blood under direct light and her eyes are dark green, glassy and blank. She has no name.

The eighth and final child is another boy, also six. His hair is chocolate brown and his eyes amber, he tells them his name is Takehiko.

By the end, Kakashi is so drained he looks like a ghost, and Toshiro doesn’t feel much better. Each of the kids has a way to go before being integrated back into society, the closest being Touma. Inoichi tells them that each child will move at their own pace, so it’s doubtful they’ll be released into Kakashi’s custody all at once. 

That’s something of a relief, seeing as Kakashi still needs to reopen and refurbish the Hatake Estate. It would also certainly be better to ease into child care rather than juggle eight at once.

“Are you planning on returning to ANBU?” Toshiro asks, once they’re back at his apartment. The visit to the Yamanaka Clan had taken the better part of the day and now the sun sits low in the sky. His stomach rumbles.

Perhaps they should have picked up food on the way back.

“I don’t know.” Kakashi answers honestly. “Should I?”

“That’s up to you.” He won’t make the man’s decisions for him. “We’d just have to plan around it, and I doubt you’d be able to take the same volume of missions you used to.”

“....I’ll think about it.” The man finally settles on, before reaching out and boldly tugging Toshiro’s pony-tail. “Ramen flavor?”

Toshiro bats the offending hand away without heat, “Beef. Why?”

“Be back in a bit.” Is what Kakashi says instead of an explanation, disappearing from Toshiro’s sight in the next moment.

Toshiro frowns down at the pile of leaves settling on his kitchen floor. “He’s sweeping that up.”

Kakashi returns with Ichiraku take-out. It’s absolutely delicious. 

(Toshiro can’t believe he’s never had it before.)

* * *

Toshiro stops by the Nara at least once a week. Yoshino insists, and Toshiro is quite sure Shikamaru would hunt him down if he missed one of their unofficial pseudo family dinners. Trying to keep good relationships is quite hard when it feels like there’s so much to be done.

So he suggests an idea.

And then the next week there’s a whole dinner bash with the Uchiha, Yamanaka and Akimichi all gathered at the Nara Compound. It’s like a huge family picnic. The kids run around playing, weaving between the adults or tumbling in the grass, their hands sticky with food. Teens gather around moodily, probably talking about their latest existential crises. Adults play Go or sit in small groups and make casual conversation, all the clans intertwining like they’d always been this way. 

Toshiro is especially glad they got the Uchiha here. It sucks that their Compound is so far from the main part of the Village. It’s incredibly isolating. (Hopefully Itachi will fix that.)

“Watch out, Toshi-sensei!” Nine year old Sasuke speeds by in a blur, hand in hand with Shikamaru, who’s getting dragged with great reluctance. Toshiro steps back a bit so he’s not bowled over by the two.

He doesn’t even have to ask what they’re running from, because in the next moment Ino appears, fire in her eyes and her short hair drenched with juice. “YOU GET BACK HERE RIGHT NOW, UCHIHA SASUKE!”

“NEVER!” The little boy screams in return.

Ino shrieks like a banshee, gaining on the two boys with frightening speed. “I’M GONNA PULL OUT YOUR HAIR AND MAKE YOU EAT IT!”

“Oh dear.” Toshiro hums. A glance around reveals that Chouji, the designated peacekeeper, is busy eating a hefty plate of food beside some of his cousins.  _ Ah, well he’s not butting in anytime soon. _

“Shiro-chan~!” A weight settles around his shoulders. He peers to the side to come face to face with Shisui and his blinding grin.

“Shisui.”

“Sound a little more excited, please.”

Toshiro smiles brightly, faking an excessively bubbly tone, “Shisui~!”

The man in question makes a face, “Oh nevermind, you little heartstealer.”

“What a nuisance,” A feminine voice sighs. Hoshika saunters up to them lazily, her dark hair pulled up and out of her face. “Can’t look away for two seconds without you bothering some poor schmuck.”

“Maa, you make it seem like I’m some unruly pet!”

Toshiro and Hoshika share a look.

Shisui gasps, an expression of mock outrage on his face. Then it fades and twists into something entirely different. Flirty, even. “I suppose I don’t mind being your pet, Hoshi-chan~!”

“Ugh,” Toshiro ducks away from the man, dislodging the arm around his shoulders. “Please keep your kinks out of my earshot.”

“Impossible.” The couple deny simultaneously, Shisui grinning and Hoshika looking resigned. 

Toshiro rolls his eyes but smiles, feeling lighthearted at their company. “I suppose I’ll learn to deal. That aside...I’m sure you’ve been asked this already, but how has...everything been?”

_ With your secret relationship suddenly not being secret? _

The couple exchange a glance. Shisui scratches his left cheek absentmindedly, thumbing at the bandages. 

“Well, the only reason we kept it secret at first was because the Clan ally stuff was relatively new and tenuous.” He shrugs, leaning in close to Hoshika and putting his arm around her with a fluid kind of grace. “And, I suppose, because….”

“It’s a total pain, but the Uchiha have never allowed relationships with anyone in another Clan.” Hoshika finishes. “At least, they  _ didn’t.  _ Now?” She shrugs, a smirk curling at her mouth. “Well, times are changing.”

“I’m happy for you.” And he really is. Even if there’s a pang of wistfulness echoing in the bruised cavern of his chest. “No one’s bothered you about it?”

“As if!” Shisui throws his head back and laughs, “Not after she stood by me against  _ Danzo. _ That kind of loyalty impresses.”

Toshiro blinks, “Is it bad that I’m a little surprised? Not to be rude but your Clan Elders didn’t seem the most….well…”

Shisui smiles. It’s a bit odd, a bit secretive. Like he knows something Toshiro doesn’t. “The Elders aren’t a problem.” Then he, presumably, attempts to wink. Except he’s only got one eye so it looks more like an exaggerated blink.

“Now everyone’s just pushing for us to marry.” Hoshika drawls, “A marriage would solidify an alliance between the Nara and Uchiha the way little else could. I’ve had to deal with a bunch of old geezers coming at me with various contracts to submit to the Uchiha.”

“What for?” Toshiro has a few ideas, but he’d rather not assume—

“What to do with children, for one.” Hoshika bluntly admits. “Do they learn the shadow possession techniques, what if they have sharingan, which last name they take, blah blah blah. What a pain, I’m not even thinking about kids.”

Shisui grins brightly, “They can be Nara, I don’t care! They’ll be mine and Hoshi-chan’s, and that’s all that matters.”

Hoshika flushes, though it doesn’t stand out much against her tanned skin. “Whatever.”

Toshiro smiles softly, unable to stop the swell of affection. “You two are very cute.”

A grunt from Hoshika and another beaming smile from Shisui —

“Ah~ An honest compliment from Shiro-chan!” He glances down at Hoshika, “Can you feel how fast my heart’s racing right now?”

She rolls her eyes, though the smile on her face is full of poorly concealed adoration. “Shut up, idiot.”

* * *

Toshiro gets roped into a night out.

All nineteen years of second life and he’s never once actually  _ gone out with friends. _ Not like this, at least. Because the tea times with Inoka and the study sessions with Fuyumi were a lot more tame than a packed diner-slash-bar. He’s in a booth with a bunch of Jounin and Chuunin he’s barely interacted with, wondering how he ended up here.

_ Ah, _ he thinks, staring dully at Kakashi, who’s pressed up against his side with his book out, an air of nonchalance surrounding him.  _ That’s why. _

Against his other side is a man a few years older, with brown hair, dark eyes and a face on the handsome side of average. He’s got a senbon between his teeth, somehow talking easily without either a lisp or letting it slip out.  _ Shiranui Genma. _

“IT’S SO GOOD TO SEE YOU, TOSHIRO-SENSEI!” Gai exclaims over the ruckus of the other patrons, slamming his drink down on the table. He’s sitting on the opposite side of the booth and his drink is apparently nonalcoholic. For reasons. Very scary ones, according to the other Jounin.

Gai had moved from Aikawa-sensei to Toshiro-sensei after a lot of prodding by Toshiro, who finally convinced the other man to do so by calling them friends.

_ My friends call me Toshiro. _

That ended in a huge scene of oddly placed sunset-like genjutsu and a waterfall of tears.

“You as well, Gai.” He takes a sip of his own drink, which is also nonalcoholic. It’s fizzy and tastes like strawberries.  _ Sweet tooth at it again.  _ “I heard you recently returned from a mission. I’m glad you weren’t injured.”

“As usual, your kindness knows no bounds!” The spandex-clad man exclaims, “I feel the fires of our friendship blaze even brighter!”

Toshiro chuckles, endlessly amused by the other man’s candor and gusto. It’s sincerely impressive to have such a boundless amount of hope and energy. Especially in the face of the tragedies they as shinobi face. Gai is an active shinobi, too. He frequently takes missions as a Jounin, so he’s probably witnessed worse things than Toshiro. 

“Hey, who took my drink?” A man with a scar across his nose yelps.

Another with a spiky hair and a single line of bandage tape across his face mutters, “Oh, shit. I thought mine tasted funny.” 

“It tastes perfectly fine!” Raidou defends, snatching his drink out of Kotetsu’s hand and chugging the bit that’s remaining.

“Sure,” Kotetsu teases, “If you like bottom-shelf sake.”

The brown haired man at his side chuckles and elbows him, “Watch it, or you’ll bring out Raidou’s  _ dad voice.” _

Toshiro finds himself at ease between the men at his sides, the comfort of camaraderie cloaking the table. It feels safe here. He might be the only Medic-Nin, but he doesn’t feel left out. They make it easy to slip into their fold and hold conversation. (All shinobi are something like a family, aren’t they? Tied together by their suffering.) These are Kakashi’s friends. Hopefully they’ll be Toshiro’s as well.

“You should try the peach.” Genma murmurs, tapping Toshiro’s strawberry drink with a finger. “If you like the sweet stuff.”

He smiles, still tasting the remnants of sugary strawberry on his tongue. “I suppose I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i call this one: ino has a crush on sasuke until she realizes he's just an annoying little shit like every other nine year old boy


	9. fresh sprigs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this seriously did not want to write itself guys BUT I DID IT....also not as much kakashi stuff i as i wanted which..hm. it's weird, i was going to write a feel good fic that was just blurbs of them falling in love. and now im dick deep in politics and they have 8 kids. (which was also a mistake but i wrote it and now i cant take it back) ANYWHO....

Kakashi decides against returning to ANBU. He trades in the gray armor for shinobi blue’s and a green flak jacket. Toshiro has to repress a smile at the sight. He’d never try to sway Kakashi’s decisions, but a part of him is glad that the other man resigned. Being an ANBU Captain was irrefutably more dangerous than just being a Jounin.

Was he selfish to prefer Kakashi safer? Maybe. A big part of him is perfectly content at the removal of one of Konoha’s shadow powerhouses. (It was time for Kakashi to step into the light.)

They visit the gaggle of Hatake kids at least once a week, subtly worming their way into the children’s lives. Kakashi obviously struggles with it, at times treating the kids more like shinobi than...well,  _ kids. _ Toshiro is there to pick up the slack, utilizing the opportunity to soothe the awkwardness brought on by both parties.

“Have you thought anymore on which name you’d like?” He asks, seated beside the strawberry blond ten year old, her eyes narrowed at the book with adorable concentration. It’s open on the table, listing names that begin with ‘ あ ’. Kakashi lounges on the other side of her, a bit farther away than Toshiro is. 

It’s been a few weeks already, and each time they visit she looks a little bit brighter. A little more settled. A little more human. She may never act like the child she is, but at least she’ll be able to grow. Then there’s the issue of her not yet picking a name. They do this every time, book before them and Toshiro’s endless patience a constant presence. It doesn’t matter how long it takes her to pick something. (She’s basically stuck with them.)

“...There is one.” She murmurs, crystal blue gaze flicking up to his with uncertainty. 

“Oh?” He smiles, “Care to share?”

She flips a few pages before settling on one in particular. It’s filled with mostly one name, pronunciation-wise, but with different possible kanji combinations and subsequent meanings. Her finger rests against 千朝.

“ _ Chiasa. _ ” Toshiro reads, gazing down with soft eyes and observing the faint stirring of determination in her expression. “ _ A thousand mornings. _ It’s beautiful.” 

Chiasa’s lips twitch. For the first time, her face brightens into the faintest rendition of a smile.

* * *

There are a few rare moments in which Toshiro has no work, no pre-arranged meetings and no immediate chores to take care of. His life is always  _ go, go, go, _ with very little breathing room in between. The more he keeps busy, the less time he has to sink into his own thoughts. The late afternoon sun is a warm gold, streaks of orange and pink blooming across the sky. Shadows are long and dark, early spring warmth cooling significantly as the day wanes. 

He’s on his way back from the market, having just purchased a pair of silver-lined sapphire studs. They’re a darker shade of blue than Chiasa’s eyes, but it had reminded him of her all the same. Last time they’d met she’d expressed curiosity in his earrings, and it wouldn’t hurt to present her with the option of getting her own ears pierced. It was certainly a way to self-express — or the beginning step in learning how to.

The street begins to feel odd. An unsubtle silence descends, whispers permeating the air. An instant later, Toshiro steps to the side to avoid being slammed into by a little boy who’s running like he’s being chased. Toshiro catches a flash of blond hair, bright and bold. For a moment he thinks it’s a Yamanaka — but their hair generally appears white-blond or dirty blond, occasionally dipping into orange hues. This little boy has hair the color of sunshine.

Reflexively (he  _ had _ just narrowly avoided being rammed into), Toshiro halts and turns to look at the rapidly fleeing boy. The whispers follow.

_ Ah. _

It’s Uzumaki Naruto. 

“Nii-san.” 

He turns back around to see Shikamaru, Sasuke, Ino and Chouji. The Academy must have just gotten out. Toshiro glances back at where Naruto had been, but the boy is long gone.

“Shikamaru.” He replies distractedly, frowning. “What was that about?”

The boy shrugs, glancing off to the side. There’s traces of discomfort in the slope of his little shoulders.

“That’s just  _ Naruto, _ ” Ino answers, huffing, “He was being  _ annoying, _ as usual.”

“He’s way too loud and keeps trying to pick fights.” Sasuke chips in. “All he ever does is lose, anyway!” Both he and Ino have grown oddly close now that Ino’s crush seems to have diminished. But the way they act when they start bouncing words off each other is a bit —

Toshiro frowns, “You didn’t bully him, did you?”

“It’s not bullying if we’re telling the truth!” Ino exclaims, “Besides, he always starts it, jumping out at Sasuke!”

He feels a pang in his chest. Being an orphan in a village that doesn’t care for orphans is one thing, but being the kyuubi container on top of that? It was the worst kept secret among everyone but the newest generation, and ignorance ran rampant. The shinobi, for the most part, didn’t have any particular feelings towards  _ Naruto. _ All the fear they had was solely for what he contained, because any shinobi worth their salt knew that a storage scroll was still a storage scroll, no matter  _ what _ was sealed inside. Unfortunately, there were still idiots abound who were blinded by pain and guilt and rage — all seeking an outlet for those tumultuous emotions. So Naruto was a scapegoat for the ignorant. The civilians made it even worse, not understanding the distinction between the boy and the fox.

Toshiro, regretfully, didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about the kid. There were plenty of orphans just like Naruto. His living situation would be improved if Toshiro went ahead with his reforms.

Toshiro couldn’t afford to have favorites if he wanted equal care for all.

Plus, no one was allowed to approach Naruto carelessly, or even speak about anything of relevance with him. (The Sandaime’s bad decisions back at it again.)

People liked to put Naruto out of sight, out of mind, or throw their hatred onto his small form without thought. Clearly, that was the stupidest, most disgusting thing Toshiro had ever heard of. If you raise a child thinking he’ll always turn into a monster, then that’s usually what he’ll become. No positive experiences, no love, no protection or care — what did they expect from the kid? To not scream at the top of his lungs for attention? To somehow dedicate his life to a village that’s only ever shown him scorn?

How could love possibly exist for a place like that?

“I see,” he murmurs, and there must be something in his voice because the four children peer at him with wide eyes. “You know, Naruto is an orphan like me. He has no parents, no siblings, no cousins. As a shinobi in training he goes home to an empty apartment and has to cook and clean all on his own, with no one to teach him how. No one gives him the time of day. I think a kid like that….he’d scream and scream and become the most annoying pest on the planet...if it meant someone would just look at him. Even for a moment.”

Ino frowns heavily, lip wobbling. Chouji sniffs and directs his gaze down to the ground, a bag of chips crumpling in his grip. Sasuke stares through Toshiro, face white like he’s receiving the worst scolding of his life. His little hands are clenched tightly into fists at his sides. 

“I know you think he’s annoying, and maybe he is. That doesn’t ever make it okay to act cruel, even if you think it’s well deserved.” He’s not their parents. He’s that funny older brother or Uncle figure that dips in and out of their lives. It shouldn’t be up to him to thrust life lessons upon them, but hell if Toshiro didn’t remember what it was like being alone in his apartment for  _ years. _ He’d almost forgotten what lonely felt like, before being swept up in all the Clan business and Kakashi, then he’d realized that loneliness had been the default the whole time. 

Misery. Loneliness. Depression. 

Getting a taste of family life while staying with the Nara only made the realization of that hidden pain all the more telling.  _ I’d been so lonely. _ While he had grown quiet and sullen and determined, Naruto was loud and brash — yet also determined in his own way.

You’d have to be deaf not to hear his yells about becoming Hokage, after all.

(You’d have to be blind to not see the hair. The eyes. Toshiro had never personally spoken with Yondaime-sama when the man had been alive, but his features were plain to see in a lonely, howling little boy. Even children of near-royalty fell into darkness, tossed out like trash and denied their birthright.  _ Oh, _ the  _ guilt  _ hundreds would feel, even if only for a moment, if they took their heads out of their asses and realized the child they hated was sired by the man they revered. The situation was worse still when you understood that Naruto carried the name  _ Uzumaki. _ A Clan Konoha had been allied with from the start, so intertwined that the first Hokage had married an Uzumaki woman.) 

A Clan Konoha claimed they loved. 

A Clan Konoha respected, flashing the Uzumaki swirl on their clothes and uniforms out of solidarity.

_ A Clan Konoha had failed. Then failed again when they didn’t think to look for any survivors who’d managed to flee. Now the Uzumaki were hunted like cattle, desired for their blood, their powers, their pretty faces and unique, firey hair.  _ A luxury, _ they were called. Sold like slaves, drained for healing blood or prostituted for red-haired children. _

“Next time,” He whispers, sadness twisting his features, “Remember that he’s lonely.”

Shikamaru stares at the ground with wet, dark eyes. His jaw is tight and he looks so much like his father in the fading light — shoulders tense around his ears and a furrow in his brow. A million thoughts race in that too-smart brain of his, Toshiro can see it in those expressive, teary eyes. 

(Toshiro’s disappointment, they discover, cuts deeper than a raised voice.)

* * *

“This name is acceptable.” The dark haired boy says, pale hands almost the same shade of white as the page.  釵.

Toshiro glances at the kanji and frowns softly. “Sai.”

It’s a good name, all things considered….it’s just….the kanji.

“You don’t approve.” The boy notes, head tilting. His dark eyes are carefully blank. “Is this not to your liking?”

“No.” Toshiro replies, with such clarity that Kakashi sits up and presses a little closer, peering at the name. “I don’t like that you’ve chosen to use the kanji indicative of the weapon.”

The boy blinks sullenly, looking from Toshiro’s earnest gaze to the book. “I don’t….”

“You aren’t a weapon.” 

Kakashi leans over Toshiro’s shoulder and taps a set of kanji on the page. “You draw, right?”

Dark eyes flash in surprise, but the boy nods. (Just because Kakashi was awkward, just because he hung in the background during these meetings… didn’t mean he wasn’t  _ observing.) _

“Then this is fine, right?”

Both Toshiro and the boy take in the single kanji that makes up Kakashi’s chosen version of  _ Sai. _

彩.

_ To color. To paint. Vividness. _

“Yes,” Sai whispers, hands in his lap and brow furrowed with an expression of confusion that feels considerably profound, “It’s fine.”

* * *

The Hatake Compound is the smallest out of all others, their population never being very substantial to begin with. Then it had dwindled down further, until only Kakashi remained. Like every other Compound, the houses were expensive looking and traditionally japanese, the homes elevated and outfitted with wood-barred windows and sliding doors of both wood and textiles. The main home is a sprawling estate at the very back, surrounded by overgrown wildlife and containing more dust than air within. There’s a beautiful cherry blossom tree in full bloom out front and, in the back, what was once a solitary rock garden has been overrun with wildflowers and weeds. It then leads into a bamboo forest that eventually fades into the usual tall, sturdy trees that Konoha is known for. 

There’s only a handful of homes outside the main estate — and Toshiro is using  _ handful _ as a very loose term. The Yamanaka’s, for example, have hundreds of homes. (Konoha is  _ huge. _ It’s a veritable country all on its own.)

Toshiro notes only fifty-three homes on the Hatake land deed. Fifty-three families to a single Clan is...tiny, all things considered. But obviously a lot more than what they were currently working with. At least when the children grew up they’d have their pick of homes within the Compound.

The first thing they did on the day he and Kakashi entered was key in Toshiro’s chakra to the wards at the gate, so he could enter whenever he wished without needing Kakashi.

“They’ll need to be updated,” Kakashi notes, eyeing the seals sprawling across the main gate after inputting some of his chakra. “Upkeep is usually yearly, for repair and improvement….”

“And you haven’t been back in a while.” Toshiro finishes, healing the slice on his hand without much thought. Blood-chakra seals were effective. And expensive. Seal Masters were hard to come by, which meant unless you could make them yourself or had money, it was generally a luxury for Clan’s to use as protection.

(Then there’s the Hyuuga, who thought themselves worthy enough of protecting their own with their all-seeing eyes….before their heiress was kidnapped from under their noses and the twin of the current Head gave his life. Now they had seals decorating their Compound walls like everyone else.)

They’d then taken a stroll down the barren, overgrown streets. 

To end up here, working their way through the house Kakashi grew up in. There’s a single room with the door blocked off and sealed with tape. Kakashi doesn’t look at it. Toshiro can’t bring himself to ask.

“This place is a disaster.” He says with blunt honesty after completing the near-silent tour. His words are then followed by a sneeze that sends dust swirling through the air.

“Maa...it’s a bit worse than I anticipated.” Kakashi comments, waving away the dust with a careless hand. 

“This is going to take  _ forever  _ to clean.” Not to mention the fifty-something other houses that needed to be assessed. He rubs his temples.

Kakashi pushes a few of the tatami sliding doors open, letting in fresh air. “Don’t worry, I’ll just hire some genin teams to do all the heavy lifting.”

A laugh bubbles from his lips before he can stop it, and Toshiro shakes his head, “Of course. Tell me then, are there enough rooms for eight kids in this house?”

Kakashi tilts his head, and the daylight spilling through the open doors makes his silver hair gleam with eye-searing intensity. “The first Hatake to settle here had twelve brats,” he replies, eye curved into a half-moon, “So I think we can manage.”

_ Twelve, _ Toshiro mouths silently. Good gods, the first Konoha-settled Hatake had been  _ busy. _ He shakes himself of the thought before it gets too weird. “Will you be alright?”

The other man exhales from his nose, appearing amused. “What, are you worried?”

Toshiro sends him a dry look. “You? Alone with eight kids you still struggle to hold conversations with? No, I’m not worried at all.”

“Aha…” Kakashi coughs.

Seriously, just thinking about it makes Toshiro want to bite his nails down to the nub, or tear his hair out from stress. Kakashi can’t even cook! The longer he thinks about it, the more Toshiro is convinced that this will be a complete disaster. 

“Well.” The former ANBU mutters, running a hand through his hair and scratching his head with an awkward sort of grace, “You could always….move in.”

Toshiro blinks. “I could. What.”

“Move in.” Kakashi repeats, dropping his hand. He shifts on his feet, one shoulder rising in a half shrug. “You know, if you’re so worried.”

“Are you trying to con me into a long-term babysitting job?” He can’t help but joke, anything to stop the weird tension settling in the air. Kakashi has gotten a lot more emotive lately, not in the face — because of the mask, and there’s only so much you can gleam from a triangle of skin — but in the way his body moves. Fidgets. Tenses. Shifts. Anxious energy and discomfort and excitement; all of it is steadily becoming more visible to Toshiro’s watchful gaze.

“You caught me.” The other man drawls, eye curving once again. He somehow manages to pull off a sheepish expression.

Toshiro purses his lips, not fooled in the slightest. “You’re a very private man, Kakashi. I know you like your space.”

Kakashi stares out into the overgrown yard, “This house is huge, Toshiro. And whether or not I like my space won’t matter when eight children are running underfoot.”

They’re quiet. Toshiro thinks over the offer carefully. He doesn’t have a particular attachment to his apartment. He’s never really cared about where he lived, actually. The only thing that mattered was the fact that it was a roof over his head. A place to sleep and store things. Important things. Like his many plants and food and towering stacks of books. He finds Kakashi’s company agreeable enough. There’s also the attachment he feels for the eight kids already, having visited them on and off for a few months now.

He exhales deeply, brushing a stray hair away from his eyes. “Well, I’m not moving in until all this dust is gone. I can barely breathe in here.”

Imperceptibly, Kakashi’s shoulders relax. “So you’ve said.”

“There’s a lot of work to be done, Kakashi,” Toshiro warns, but he still finds himself smiling, “Touma comes home next week.”

_ Comes home. _

He looks around the open estate, watches a breeze send stray leaves spiralling through the air — feels the sturdy wood beneath his feet and imagines the way this place will look when it’s clean. 

(Imagines what it will look like packed with people, with kids and friends.)

This is not his home, but it could be. _ It will be, _ seeing as he’s moving in. What an odd path he’s stumbled upon, to lead him to this very moment. It’s strange — Toshiro almost feels...content. There’s still so much to do and so much to fix, a million, million tasks to complete, but he’s happy. 

And he hadn’t realized how starkly different the Toshiro of  _ before _ was compared to the Toshiro of  _ now.  _ The sadness he’s toted around on his shoulders has diminished, turned into a tolerable weight. For the first time in a long time, Toshiro hears the words  _ I look forward to tomorrow _ echo in his head.

Kakashi coughs again. “By the way, I really hope you like dogs.”

“What?”

* * *

Toshiro has always known Kakashi held a contact with nindogs. That kind of thing is well known among the man’s friends, and most of his enemies. (Dog bites  _ seriously _ hurt.) It’s just...it’s been almost five years since they first met — and maybe  _ met _ is a strong word because Kakashi had been delirious — and Toshiro can count on one hand the amount of times he’s seen just one of Kakashi’s dogs. 

Perhaps the biggest reason why is because their friendship started in the hospital and flatlined there for two years. When Kakashi started dropping by Toshiro’s apartment and invading his space like the menace he was, he never brought a single dog. And Toshiro has never once been to the other man’s apartment. 

Not that it mattered anymore, seeing as he was moving back into the Hatake Compound.

They both were.

Still a little odd to think about. 

“Touch my paw.” The little pug says, one padded foot extended. The action doesn’t fit the blank expression or deep voice the dog carries in the slightest. “It’s super soft.”

Toshiro touches the offered paw. “Ah, it is. How cute.”

Kakashi sighs in the background. 

He’s introducing all his dogs to Toshiro — and boy, are there more than he’d realized. Actually….

“Pft.” Toshiro snickers, then coughs to poorly hide his amusement.

“What?” Kakashi inquires, glancing from the eight dogs to Toshiro and then back.

Clearing his throat, Toshiro sets an incredulous gaze on the taller man. “Use your eyes and that big prodigy brain of yours.”

Kakashi squints, silver hair bobbing as he tilts his head. Sudden clarity alights in his single eye. “Ah.”

“On the bright side, you have a dog for each kid.”

“They can get their own.”

“Really? Can I have one too?”

“.....”

* * *

The day before Touma is to be released into Kakashi’s custody, Toshiro finds himself at the Nara Compound. He’s greeted with the sight of the usual gaggle of kids: Sasuke, Shikamaru, Chouji and Ino, as well as  _ Uzumaki Naruto. _ They’re all seated at the dinner table, and Shikamaru studiously avoids his gaze with red-tipped ears. Shikaku and Yoshino are outside, having tea on the porch. Presumably to let the kids hang out in peace and somehow trusting them not to make a mess with their food.

“Hey, mister! Are you Ino’s nii-san?”

Toshiro blinks. “Ah, no. I’m Aikawa Toshiro.” Then he smiles and sits beside the boy, “But you can call me Toshiro. It’s nice to meet you, Naruto-kun.”

Naruto scrutinizes him with squinty azure eyes, then shrugs. “‘S nice t’ meet ya too, I guess. If you’re not related then why are you here?”

“Naruto!” Ino exclaims, “Don’t be rude!”

Naruto’s face scrunches up, scarred cheeks puffing. “What!? I was just askin’!”

Sasuke rolls his eyes, “That’s Toshiro-sensei, dummy. He’s like….” The boy pauses. “I dunno. Super important!”

Naruto turns to look at Toshiro with an assessing gaze that’s laughable on his baby-face. “How important? Are you the Hokage’s right hand man or somethin’?”

“He’s my older brother.” Shikamaru finally speaks up. “And he might as well be.”

The boy briefly meets Toshiro’s eyes, then purses his lips and flushes cherry red. They haven’t spoken since last week, not able to get the chance with Toshiro’s busy schedule. It’s obvious that Shikamaru feels embarrassed about his previous behavior. Toshiro laughs softly. His self-proclaimed little brother really is too cute.

“I’m not the right hand man. I’m…”  _ Nobody. _ Ah, he’s not allowed to say that anymore, is he? “A medic nin. I’ll be in charge of the hospital when Itachi takes over.”

“Is that important?” Naruto asks, seeming skeptical. 

Chouji reaches across the table and pats Naruto’s hand, “He’s like the Hokage of the hospital, yeah?”

The blond boy sits up, whipping his head to look at Toshiro once more, sparkles in his eyes. “WHOA! So you’re like, super duper smart! Hey, hey, I’m gonna be Hokage someday, ya know? I’m gonna take over after Sasuke’s nii-san! So watch out, because we’ll be workin’ together!”

Toshiro looks down at the boy and his wide, earnest eyes. Determination mingles with desperation in those baby blues, little fists curled like he’s ready to fight at a moment’s notice. Everything about him screams  _ notice me, notice me. _ Toshiro reaches out and ruffles that unruly blond hair. 

“I’m sure we will, future hokage-sama.” He smirks, the expression startlingly close to that of his Uchiha friends.

Naruto’s bottom lip wobbles, then he gifts Toshiro with a wide, bashful smile. “Haha! just you wait, ya know!”

“Of course, you’ll need a super smart, super cute advisor as a right hand man.” Toshiro hums, winking at Shikamaru when the boy catches on to his not so subtle description, “Have any ideas?”

Ino looks up from her plate of food. “I could totally do it!”

Sasuke scoffs, “As if! It’ll be me!”

“Oh, so you admit you’re absolutely adorable? Completely cherubic? Positively—”

Sasuke scowls and throws a carrot slice at Ino’s face. She shrieks and bats it out the way, before retaliating with a carrot of her own.

“I’m sure whoever you chose will be great, Naruto.” Chouji chips in while the two on either side of him begin to reach around him and pinch at each other. “But I guess if you want the best—”

“It’ll have to be Shikamaru!” Naruto exclaims, turning to his left, where the Nara sits slouched over his plate. “You’re the smartest guy I know, even if you act like dead weight ‘n you’re super lazy!”

Shikamaru eyes him with a deadpan expression. “Thanks.”

Naruto beams, and Shikamaru looks like he has to squint against the force of it. “No problem!”

Toshiro chuckles into his hand. He hadn’t known what to expect when he’d told the kids off last week. It wasn’t exactly…. _ this. _ Not that he’s complaining! From the looks of it, Naruto could certainly do with some friends. The most Toshiro had wanted was for them to remember to acknowledge other children’s pain. A heavy lesson, certainly, but it would mean the world to people they interacted with.

(Toshiro doesn’t know what would have become of him if Yukimura-sensei hadn’t shown him kindness. Him, a clanless orphan with no special skills.  _ It only ever takes one person. _ )

“How troublesome.” Shikamaru murmurs, stuffing a pork bun into his mouth. He chews obnoxiously, eyes shifting towards and away from Naruto’s sunny features.

“You two,” Toshiro catches the attention of Ino and Sasuke, who had rolled behind Chouji to slap at each other. They pause with a fist in each other’s hair. He grins, “Maybe don’t scalp each other until after dinner.”

Naruto laughs, “Ino’s gonna kick your butt, Sasuke!”

The dark-haired boy scowls, “No way!”

Ino hums smugly, “Blonds supporting blonds. We love to see it.”

After dinner the kids burn off their energy running around outside, play-fighting and chasing each other. The evening air is thick with their laughter, and Toshiro takes a seat on the grass beside a spread-eagle Shikamaru.

“I’m very proud of you, little brother.” He says, brushing a hand across the boy’s forehead. “And for the record, I think you’ll make a great Hokage’s Advisor.”

Shikamaru snorts, sharp eyes tracking to the side and accidentally settling on Naruto. The boy in question turns as he senses their gazes on him and waves, a smile blooming on his face and pulling at whisker-marks, “Shikaaa!”

He’s then promptly tackled by Sasuke. They go down in a tangle of limbs and screeching yells. Chouji then dog-piles on the two while Ino howls with laughter in the back.

Shikamaru snorts, turning his face away. Toshiro sees a red flush spread across his tanned cheeks. “I guess someone has to watch out for him.”

“Oho?”

Shikamaru rolls his eyes, “What a pain.”

When the sun finally disappears from the sky, the other children begin to leave, walked home by a few Nara Clansmen who complain about it the whole time.

“Boys are gross,” Ino tells him at the door, “Next time I’m bringing Sakura. I need to introduce you!”

Then there’s Naruto, who stands at the door with a sullen expression. He immediately tries to hide it when the attention shifts to him, but he’s in a house full of Nara. (And Toshiro.) It’s plain to see the boy isn’t looking forward to ending the day of fun he’d just experienced and returning to his dark, empty apartment.

Shikmaru rubs the back of his neck, letting out a tragically loud sigh. He kicks lightly at the floor with socked toes. “You should stay over.”

Naruto blinks, “W-What do you mean?”

Shikaku and Yoshino exchange glances over Shikamaru’s head, their faces filled with humor and exasperation. Yoshino presses a hand to her cheek and looks to be squealing internally at the soft moment occuring before their eyes.

Naruto plays with the hem of his worn shirt, twisting the fabric in his hands. He looks so small in those dirty, slightly too-large clothes. His limbs look a bit too thin, his hair a little too unkempt. There’s a spot of dirt on his nose and his shorts have holes at the knees.

And he carries the sky in his eyes.

“I mean you should sleep over.” Shikamaru elaborates. “If you want.”

Naruto grips his shirt so tightly his knuckles turn white with the strain. Then he releases it — tension leaving like an exhale. “Does that mean we can hang out more?”

Shikamaru makes a face, his desire to be lazy warring with whatever emotion Naruto’s earnest gaze has inspired. “....yeah.” He then turns away, ears steadily turning red, “What kind of Advisor would I be otherwise?”

Naruto gapes, azure eyes watering. “Shikamaruuu!” He cries, leaping forward and tackling the boy. They fall to the ground, Naruto babbling and Shikamaru laying there like a doormat, a look of deep resignation on his flushed face.

Yoshino snaps a picture.

Toshiro eyes her for a moment. “Send me a copy?”

They shake hands while Shikaku raises his eyes to the ceiling, doing nothing to hide the faint smile on his face. 

“You have a deal.” She replies, and they smirk at each other.

* * *

“Touma-kun, are you ready to go?” Toshiro asks, fussing over the boy. Kakashi hovers behind him, filled with manic energy that he directs very poorly. Hence the fact that he’s ignoring everything and has his nose in an  _ Icha Icha _ novel. 

“Yeah.” The lavender-eyed boy says, a bag slung over his back. The children had come with nothing, being….well, where they had been. But in the months they’d all been at the Yamanaka compound they’d been able to collect items like clothing, books or knick-knacks. Everything Touma owned was in that bag.

_ We’ll go shopping. _ Toshiro thinks immediately. He elbows Kakashi softly. 

“Ah,” The man clears his throat, smiling with his eye. “I suppose it’s time to go home then.”

Touma takes a deep breath, fists clenched around his bag straps. He looks so small and earnest, vibrating with some intense emotion. “Yes. I’d like to go...home.”

Toshiro and Kakashi exchange a look. He feels his chest swell with the beginnings of deep adoration. It’s a very fluffy feeling, like a thousand birds in his rib cage. It’s —

Breathtaking.

He holds out a hand. Touma takes it after a moment, fingers so much smaller. It fills Toshiro with a sudden desperate, protective energy. He looks to Kakashi once more, giddiness bubbling out like steam from a kettle. His mouth curls into a sugary smile, rosy eyes twinkling. “Then let’s go.”

Kakashi looks away, the skin of his visible cheekbone flushed bright red. Touma takes his hand as though it’s expected, and Kakashi turns his head back so fast Toshiro is certain he heard it crack. The man looks tense and helpless, his pale, scarred hand held prisoner by tiny fingers.

They walk out of the Yamanaka Compound, the little boy between them swinging their hands as if hypnotized by the motion — by the heat of their palms against his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so. after i finish this one im probably gonna start posting another SI fic. i've had this idea for like 5 years akljsdalkd WHICH IS DUMB BC I WROTE THIS FIRST? LIKE A DAY AFTER I THOUGHT OF IT? also i love all the feedback and i wish i could just straight up talk to u all bc i get so excited reading ur comments. (discord server for the gays?? anyone??) also i made a spotify playlist for this fic !! [here!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6u2jUKsS9i6zIF3HWvAkVa?si=sUJBOFBBSDSN0TcjPmocDg)


	10. ladybugs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, struggled a bit with this chapter ;-; everything felt super clunky and i swear i wrote the word 'thing' like a million times anD I HATE HOW HARD IT IS TO FIND ALTERNATE WORDING

Aburame Shibi is a quiet man, not a shy one. Frequently, many make the mistake in assuming, as he avoids crowds and lengthy conversations and speaks with a voice that sounds a bit like gravel. It’s been a few months since the man offered Toshiro his help after they’d located the Root base. He’s learned that Shibi is quiet because he prefers to be. That the Aburame enjoys solitude and abhors crowds, not because they make him nervous but because he gets annoyed at the noise. 

He is also viciously, _brutally_ honest; speaking his mind with a sharp sort of intelligence that comes with being a Clan Head and experienced shinobi. As expected, he and Toshiro get along swimmingly. 

Toshiro lays out his ideas for child care reforms, points out probable funding needs, and announces his desire for an overhaul of the system dealing with orphaned children going down the shinobi path.

No beating around the bush.

Shibi looks it over. He cuts some ideas down and plants a few new ones. They argue without really arguing, both of their temperaments considerably on the cool side. It’s different from debating with Fugaku. It’s also very different from dealing with Shikaku, who has more charisma under that lazy exterior than most realize.

By the time Touma is released into Kakashi’s (and Toshiro’s) care, the Aburame have funded the restoration and refurbishing of all six orphanages around Konoha. It’s slow going, of course, because there isn’t anywhere else to put the kids so the buildings have to be done piece by piece. There’s also the matter of the chunk of Konoha destroyed in the battle with Danzo, which is where most contractors and volunteers are putting their efforts into. So it’s….getting there. But nowhere near done. 

While they wait, they work on the legal aspect of everything. The _meat_ of the reforms, you could say. They open up hiring opportunities for more childcare workers. A plot of land in the shinobi district is purchased, the building set to be destroyed and then rebuilt into a seventh ‘orphanage’. Of sorts. It’ll serve as a place to live for all orphaned children looking to be shinobi. Being in the shinobi district meant they were closer to the training grounds and shops catering specifically to shinobi, which allowed them to be more immersed in the life they were choosing to lead. 

Shibi recommended they hire retired shinobi to watch over and guide the kids. There were a couple they’d already reached out to, some older and retired due to age, others younger and retired due to injury. 

These kinds of reforms have to go through the Council. They’re basically pushing to relocate academy children (who are considered a village resource, sadly) and put them in a group living situation with supervision. Writing up the presentation for such a thing meant all the details had to be _airtight._ Toshiro made sure to highlight every single pro he could think of.

Children will receive the skills required to care and provide for themselves. They’ll have access to resources, such as retired shinobi, who can provide them with training tips and supervision. They’ll form bonds with their fellow academy students — and he really plays into Konoha’s whole ‘teamwork is essential’ bit while he writes — and learn healthy social skills. The goal is to improve their overall skill-sets and quality of life, with the desired and predicted result of increasing the life expectancy and mental health of Konoha’s shinobi population.

It probably doesn’t hurt that he personally knows quite a few of the Clan Heads, who all have seats on the Council. The civilian part of the Council agree to it without much thought, because the money isn’t coming out of their pockets.

The proposal passes with flying colors. 

But the actual changes won’t reach completion for some time yet.

Toshiro can’t wait.

* * *

“You get to pick your room, Touma-kun.” Toshiro announces, gesturing to the hall that breaks off from the living room. “There’s quite a few down there, then some on the second floor. Feel free to explore….the only rooms taken are mine and Kakashi’s, both on this floor.”

Touma nods, peering around curiously. He removes his sandals at the door and takes his time padding around the living room and attached kitchen, looking at every appliance and staring at the occasional traditional wall scroll with wide eyes.

The art pieces had come from Kakashi. Toshiro doesn’t know where the man had found them, but he only presented the scrolls after cleaning out that taped off room so he can make an educated guess. It had been a personal endeavour — the man had strictly told the genin teams not to enter. As it was, the room remained locked. Kakashi seemed to have no desire to open it up again, but at least all that sealing tape was gone and the inside was presumably cleaned out. 

All of Kakashi’s dogs laze around in the living room, crowding the floor space and couch cushions. Touma eyes them with an odd expression, like he’s not sure of what he’s seeing. 

“Guys, this is Touma.” Kakashi introduces awkwardly, gesturing at the dark-haired boy with one hand. “Touma, these are my nin-dogs.”

Like a dam is broken, the dogs surge around the boy eagerly, their voices mingling as they attempt to introduce themselves at the same time. Touma looks overwhelmed at the information but also — happy. He pets at whichever dog surges by his hands. Bisuke hops on Touma’s shoulder and noses at his curls and Bull nudges at the boy’s side, Uhei and Guruko pressing close, tails wagging. 

Pakkun sits back on the couch, “Welcome to the pack, kid.”

* * *

For dinner, they have a meal prepared by Chouji’s mother — in celebration of Touma’s arrival. He kicks his legs in little excited bursts as he eats, cheeks puffy and lavender eyes sparkling. Shiba is sleeping by his chair and Pakkun has settled himself against the boy’s head; his little body flattening dark curls, somehow swaying Touma into giving him bites of the meal. 

Toshiro meets Kakashi’s eyes across the table and grins. The other man looks as if he feels out of place, watching the two with a drooping eye. Whatever emotion he’s feeling — Toshiro thinks it’s contemplative rather than negative. Otherwise Kakashi would have disappeared the second he finished his food. Which he had, before either Toshiro or Touma were even half-way through theirs. 

(Had to protect his face, Toshiro supposes.)

It’s funny, Toshiro has never really thought about why Kakashi covers his face. The mask is such an integral part of Kakashi, at this point it’s almost weird to question it. They’d met during a time when Kakashi was _just_ a mask. ANBU were the Elite. The type whose identities were simply _not meant to be known._ Kakashi hadn’t cared enough to hide his identity. Not then. Toshiro sees now that it was a reckless sort of behavior born of trauma. Like he’d always known — everyone Kakashi had been associated with, his father, his teammates, his sensei, had all died. Tragically. Even before he’d known the other man as well as he does today, Toshiro had _also_ always known that Kakashi worked himself to the bone with little care for his own person. It was almost suicidal, how frequently Kakashi had thrown himself into ANBU mission after ANBU mission. 

The man certainly ended up in the hospital enough for Toshiro to pick up on _that._

Toshiro doesn’t think Kakashi knows how to be soft. He carries himself like a strung bow, taut and prepared to fire at any second. The loose set of his shoulders and disinterested gaze is just another mask, a way to prevent attachment or another’s desire to look too closely at him. 

A mask under a mask under a mask. 

Toshiro wonders if Kakashi hides his face because he hasn’t figured out who he is yet.

(Or maybe he really does hate his father.)

(Maybe it’s both.)

_Or maybe he doesn’t hate his father, and that’s why he can’t stand to see himself._

Toshiro washes the dishes and teaches Touma how, catching more than one plate when they slip between the boy’s fingers. He puts Touma to bed. Tells him where he can find Toshiro’s room if need be. Where he can find Kakashi’s.

He runs a gentle hand through the boy’s dark hair and pulls the covers up to his chin. Touma watches it all with watery eyes, and murmurs a soft _goodnight,_ like he’s not sure if he’s allowed.

“Good night, Touma.” Toshiro whispers in reply.

He finds Kakashi back in the main room, slouched against the couch with three dogs in his lap. That lone, dark eye is staring up at the ceiling, looking but not _seeing._

He sits down beside the silver-haired man, leaving about a foot between them. “You’ve been oddly quiet.”

“This may come as a surprise, but I’m not very talkative to begin with.”

Toshiro makes a face, “You’re deflecting.”

Kakashi exhales, scarred hands absently running through dog fur. 

After it becomes clear that the man is struggling, Toshiro decides to take the plunge, “It feels awful, doesn’t it?”

Kakashi tilts his head, silvery strands sliding across his forehead. The low lighting deepens shadows brought on by the lines of his face. He looks somehow older than his twenty-three years. He doesn’t speak. But he’s listening.

“Trying to open up. Kind of nauseating, actually. Like every nerve is on fire and if you open your mouth then everything will change.” Toshiro pauses. “Or maybe you think it’s a weakness. That keeping quiet will make me think more of you.”

“I think you’ll think whatever you wish of me, no matter what I do.” Kakashi mutters. “It’s infuriating.”

Toshiro furrows his brow. He feels — nervous. Weird. He’s not sure what’s wrong, only that something _is._ Maybe Kakashi is realizing that he’s made a mistake in taking in the kids, or he’s growing overwhelmed now that the reality of his situation has smacked him across the face. 

“You’re angry with me?”

“No,” Kakashi says, tone a little off and eye curving into a false smile. “I’m jealous, actually.”

“Of what? Me?” It seems so wildly out of the blue — completely the opposite of what Toshiro had been thinking.

A hum. “Looks like.”

The next pause is strained.

Kakashi puts a hand to his face and covers his visible eye. “I’m jealous….of your ability to be kind.”

“You’re not cruel, Kakashi.” Toshiro whispers.

A mirthless laugh spills from Kakashi’s masked lips, “Maa, it’s actually what I’m best at, didn’t you know?”

There are a variety of reasons this could be happening. _This_ being some kind of depressive episode. An unfortunate side-effect of their profession, and one that didn’t look well treated at all. _God, the Yamanaka really need to pick up their mental health game. Mandatory therapy should be a MUST for shinobi._ Assumptions won’t get him anywhere, however. 

He leans closer, until he can feel the heat of Kakashi’s body — always a little higher than natural. “ _Being a shinobi_ may be what you’re best at, but that does not always translate to _cruel._ Humans are too complex to be one single adjective. What made you feel as though you can’t be kind?”

“I don’t know how to deal with kids.” Kakashi replies, sliding his hand down to the lower half of his face. “Never have, not even when I _was_ one. My whole life was rules — and then it wasn’t. And then I was alone. There was never anyone to tell me how to feel when I sit at a table with a child who looks happy to be here, who _lives here.”_

_Oh._ Toshiro thinks. _So that’s it._

Kakashi doesn’t know how to have a family.

He swallows. What can he say? Toshiro is no therapist. But he….he cares for Kakashi. He hates to see the man look so lost, struggling to adjust to the rapid changes to his once orderly life.

“There’s no guidebook.” He begins haltingly, carefully thinking over his words as they leave his mouth, “To be frank, the three of us are all in the same boat here. Hell, the ten of us! We can figure it out as we go. I know it might not be the answer you want...but if you’re so worried about how to act, just imagine what you wanted as a child.”

“What I wanted?”

Toshiro shrugs, their shoulders pressing together. Kakashi doesn’t move away. “I imagine it was something like what I wanted. Attention. Someone to just _be_ there. To just….know that I wasn’t alone.”

Kakashi drops his hand back down to the dogs in his lap. He turns his head to the side and they watch each other, face to face and merely a few inches apart. Kakashi searches Toshiro’s rosy eyes with an intensity that makes Toshiro’s heart flutter uncomfortably.

“How can you share pieces of yourself so easily?” The man whispers. 

A little confused, Toshiro replies, “Well, it’s you, isn’t it?”

That dark eye widens, lithe frame tensing with shock rather than discomfort. At the edge of his mask, the skin of Kakashi’s cheekbone begins to flush pink. “Aheh…”

Toshiro’s fingers tingle. Kakashi looks at him with such bewilderment — the flush spreading to the visible tips of his ears. This close, Toshiro can count every pale, silvery eyelash gracing that one eye. An eye that Toshiro had previously assumed to be black, but now appeared to be an incredibly dark shade of gray-blue. The space between them is warm with the combination of their body heat and the weight of slumbering dogs.

It feels — It feels. Weird. A slow burn in his gut, swirling like a hundred butterflies. His pulse picks up, as fast as the beat of a hummingbird’s wings. Warmth blooms across his face, a sensation he can _feel_ — oh. He’s blushing.

They stare at each other for a very long moment, and Toshiro realizes he’s said something that carries a bit more weight than anticipated. He’s….embarrassed? No. Maybe. He meant it, so why feel embarrassed about it? 

Kakashi coughs. The sun has completely gone down, the ambient light disappearing from the few windows in the room. All that’s left is the soft flickering of lantern light, washing Kakashi’s pale colors with gold. Toshiro is close enough to see the movement of his jaw as he opens his mouth to speak.

“If the next thing out of your mouth is self-deprecating, I will be very…. _cross.”_ He interupts. Kakashi’s jaw snaps shut so fast his teeth click.

One of the dogs grumbles sleepily.

“It’s okay to still be learning. There’s no expiration date for new experiences, Kakashi.” Toshiro murmurs, the heat on his cheeks slowly receding. “Even if that new experience is something as simple as hearing the words _I trust you._ ‘Cause I do. Trust you, that is. Which is why it’s easy for me to talk to you about myself.”

Kakashi eyes him, “But not everything.”

“No,” he replies, soft and a little regretful, “There are still a few things that…”

“Make you feel nauseous.” Kakashi repeats, _“Like every nerve is on fire and if you open your mouth then everything will change.”_

A huff of laughter escapes him, “Yes. Like that. But those are things I need to work on by myself before I can let someone else know.”

“....I have stuff like that too.”

He levels a droll look at the man, “You know, I wouldn’t have guessed.”

Like that, the odd tension is broken. Kakashi’s muscle loosen, an easy light returning to his eye. His eye curves into his signature smile substitute, and this time it doesn’t look incredibly fake. “There are things I _can_ tell you, though. I trust you, too.”

Toshiro sniffs, “Well I would hope so, seeing as we’re living together.”

Some time later, when Toshiro is curled under the sheets of his new bed, he ponders the emotion that had ached under his ribs. He runs calloused fingertips over his own cheeks, unable to feel the spray of freckles decorating them but knowing they’re there. He’d blushed.

Kakashi was paler than him, but Toshiro wasn’t exactly very tan to begin with. A crimson flush would be starkly obvious on his features, just as it was on Kakashi’s — peeking tauntingly out from under that mask.

Two idiots just sitting there. Blushing at each other. 

Toshiro snorts and turns, pressing his cheek into the cool pillow. They’ve known each other for almost five years. At this point, Kakashi is probably the one friend he trusts the most, right up there with Yukimura-sensei. 

And yet it was starting to feel a little different.

He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to will himself to sleep. Toshiro has always known — well, it had been rather obvious, with all the man’s admirers...but it was one thing to merely acknowledge, and another to actively _notice._

What a time to realize he finds Hatake Kakashi attractive.

* * *

Touma decides he wants to be a shinobi. It’s a bit of a relief, all things considered, because it takes up a good chunk of his day throughout the week and lets Toshiro work without worry. Kakashi begins to take missions once more, careful to request the ones with a _max_ time limit of three days. It would be far too much to ask the Copy Nin to settle for a desk job like a Chuunin, or remain content with guard duty. 

Toshiro is pretty sure that Kakashi will resume taking longer missions once all the kids are settled in. As it is, he’s making sure to keep up with Toshiro in visiting once a week. 

Chiasa had her ears pierced a few weeks back and she’s been wearing the sapphire studs that Toshiro bought her some time ago. Her once choppy, strawberry-blond hair is now down to her shoulders. 

Toshiro can’t believe how much time has passed. His own hair is at the middle of his back — it’s no wonder Naruto assumed him to be related to Ino the first time they’d officially met. He’s not sure how long he wants to grow it. Maybe he’ll get a trim soon.

He brings Sai more art supplies, and the boy very quietly shows off the work he’s done so far. Kakashi actually puts his books away and sorts through the images.

“You’re good at this.” He comments lightly, and Sai looks at Kakashi like he can’t believe the words came out of _his_ mouth. Kakashi pretends not to see.

Shikamaru sometimes appears, scooting through the doorway when he’s able to escape from his friends. He somehow manages to find whichever room they’re in everytime he and the others are playing at Ino’s. The little girl with lavender hair and pretty brown eyes asks him about books, about his parents, about the deer. She’s soft spoken but soaks up the attention of another child — this one not from Root. 

She names herself _Kojika,_ smiling shyly at them when she does.

It means _fawn._

The next time Shikamaru strolls in, she calls him Nii-san. The boy turns completely red but does not leave. Instead he flops against Toshiro’s back and hides his face while feigning sleep. They don’t really know all the children’s birthdays. Their ages were speculated after examinations. She’s probably the same age as Shikamaru, but his cool demeanor — laziness aside — seems to have pegged him as the older brother. 

It’s not long after that Toshiro becomes Nii-san for almost all the children as well.

He’s only around nine or ten years older than the oldest, after all. Too young to be mistaken for their father. Having a gaggle of little siblings doesn’t sound so bad.

Shikamaru, on the other hand, has no idea what to do about the situation he’s found himself in. Once it gets around to the Hatake kids that Shikamaru is Toshiro’s little brother, they pull him into the fold.

Greedy for family.

The only ones who don’t call Shikamaru _nii-san_ or some variation of it are Chiasa and Sai. Chiasa, because she’s probably a year or so older, and Sai because...well. They don’t know yet. He acknowledges that Kakashi and Toshiro are his guardians, but he refuses to call them anything remotely familial. (Not that they push him to do so.)

The other children….they’re so young. In the face of easy acceptance and love, they sink into it without abandon, enraptured by the swelling of their hearts. 

“You’re part of the pack now,” Kakashi murmurs to the youngest, little Takehiko. The nin-dogs have been summoned and gather around the kid until only tufts of brown hair and wide, amber eyes can be seen.

_Pack._

The children cling to it.

They were treated carefully for a while, kept mostly away from each other while they were assessed and the worst of their habits unlearned. Then they were allowed to play with each other, to interact and form bonds with one another. To introduce a concept like _pack?_

Toshiro feels his heart thud in his chest as he watches Kakashi pull Takehiko from the pile, scolding his dogs in that lazy tone of his — _Bull, he’s too small to sit on._

And. Well. 

He swallows and presses a hand to his sternum. Kakashi looks back at him, arms full of maybe-seven-year-old, whose hands are attempting to reach down and continue petting the massive dog that almost crushed him. Silver hair gleams in the splash of sunlight spilling in from the room’s wide window, the shadow of a bar cutting across his shoulder. 

Toshiro smiles.

* * *

Chiasa comes home. It’s a bit of surprise for Touma, who stumbles out of his room in the morning only to find his sister in the kitchen. He’s dressed in dark purple shorts and a black, mesh-woven shirt with the Hatake clan symbol on the back. His academy wear.

“Chiasa!” He exclaims, then tugs a chair over so he can sit next to her. She gifts him with the shadow of a smile, stilling finding it a bit difficult to translate the emotions she feels to actual expressions. She’s also dressed for the day, black shinobi-grade pants and a white tee-shirt, topped with a sleeveless, hooded, dark blue vest. The Hatake symbol is embroidered on the back, only half visible under the hood.

The tailor had gotten their order of clothes in — and what a huge order it was. Picking clothes was easy when they could show the kids a catalog and let them choose what they wanted, but getting everything personalized for a Clan? If Kakashi was taking the Council Seat as Hatake Clan Head, that meant they needed to represent themselves accordingly.

Which meant a lot of money spent on eight wardrobes, almost all the shirts, jackets, sweaters — anything that was considered a top — marked with a symbol that Toshiro likened to a rubik's cube. Except. _Only white outlines._ He doesn’t say this aloud because that particular toy doesn’t exist here.

Kakashi is not far behind Touma, sauntering into the room, outfitted in his usual jounin clothes — sans the flak jacket. He bops both of the kids on the head as he passes the table, and while Chiasa looks startled, Touma grabs his head and pouts. Kakashi has been attempting to be more personable with the kids, and the result is that he tends to treat them a little like dogs. Patting heads and offering snacks when he’s not sure what to do.

Touma has grown accustomed to Kakashi’s antics in the two weeks he’s been here. The head pat is basically a breakfast time custom at this point.

As neither Toshiro nor Kakashi can cook very well, most of their meals are on the simple side — if they don’t end up with hand-outs from the Akimichi. At least breakfast is a relatively easy meal to provide. Toast, cereal, oatmeal — all the kinds of food that takes very little skill or effort to make. Toshiro fusses over the stove, heating up a big pan of scrambled eggs. _Simple._

Well, he doesn’t burn them.

“I want to go to the Academy.” Chiasa announces after demolishing three slices of toast. “Please.” She adds as an afterthought.

“Ok.” Kakashi says. His plate is empty in seconds and he’s ignoring the scowl Touma sends him at the missed opportunity to see his face.

Toshiro swallows a mouthful of scrambled eggs, “We’ll get you signed up today when Touma gets dropped off.” She’s almost at graduating age, but she’ll probably have a year or two to get to know her peers. It’s too bad that she’s probably not going to be in the same year as Shikamaru and the rest.

He hopes she’ll be okay.

Touma holds his hand as they walk to the Academy. He talks to Chiasa about what he’s been up to while with Toshiro and Kakashi. He focuses especially on the dogs.

“Kakashi-nii said we can each have one. He promised, so that means it’s definitely gonna happen.” 

Toshiro presses his lips together to stop a chuckle. 

Chiasa blinks and nods her head, “I see. I look forward to it, then.”

He doesn’t miss the glimmer of excitement in her crystalline eyes. _Forget children, the house is going to be overflowing with_ dogs.

* * *

He fills out paperwork for Chiasa, wondering a bit at the fact that he’s even allowed to do so in Kakashi’s place. He doesn’t wear the Hatake Clan symbol, nor is he a Hatake. The Chuunin sensei doesn’t seem to realize that Toshiro isn’t Chiasa’s actual, _legal_ guardian.

Well.

That’s another issue concerning the Academy that needs a bit of fixing. How can they be so lax about this kind of thing? If they weren’t checking for approved guardianship, then any old schmuck could sign up a kid into the shinobi lifestyle. Plus, the _paperwork!_ It would be faulty or counterfeit! 

He’ll have to put it on the list. Or maybe just rewrite the whole thing to get some anxiety out. For now, he’ll just use it to his advantage and sign up Chiasa.

He’s basically her guardian anyway. 

Ah. He’s co-parenting, isn’t he?

Toshiro signs off, mimicking Kakashi’s signature with ease. He hands the papers to the Chuunin with a grin. The man gives a polite smile in return and doesn’t even bother to look thoroughly at the pages he’d just been given.

“She’ll just have to take an assessment test so we can place her in a fitting year.” The man says, turning to Chiasa and giving her a smile. “You can call me Mizuki-sensei. I’ll be overseeing the test. You ready?”

Chiasa glances up at Toshiro, and he meets her look with a supportive smile. “I’ll be here when you’re finished.” He’s lucky enough to have the day off today. Er, at least until 11PM. Then he’s in for an eight hour shift. Just in time to get home when the kids start waking up.

Straightening her back, Chiasa nods and turns back to Mizuki-sensei. “Ok. I’m ready to begin.”

(She places in sixth year, out of seven. Shikamaru and his friends are in their fifth year. It’s too bad she’s not with them despite being a little bit older. Still, he’s just glad she’ll have more time to get to know her classmates. Chiasa could easily graduate if she wanted.)

“Hey.” His voice is almost lost among the hustle and bustle of Konoha’s market district.

She looks up at him as they walk. Class for her won’t begin until tomorrow, so the Academy can process the paperwork. There’s nothing left for them to do but head home.

He jerks a thumb at the grocery store. “Wanna get some ice cream as a treat for dessert tonight?”

“I’ve never had ice cream.” Chiasa replies, brows furrowed. 

Toshiro tries very hard not to gape, “What! Well, now we _have_ to get some!”

She frowns curiously but follows after him as he flits through the crowd, acting as his silent shadow. The grocery store he enters is not his usual one, just the first he spotted. It’s going to take some getting used to, living in a different part of Konoha and subsequently having a different array of stores close by. 

The store isn’t large, and for mid-day it isn’t very packed. It’s a relief, since the summer sun was already too hot without all those bodies crowding the street. Inside it’s at least ten degrees cooler.

Chiasa looks around with wide, sky blue eyes, stalling every once in a while to look at whatever catches her attention.

He gets three cartons: vanilla, chocolate and strawberry. Might as well go all out so she can get a sense of her options. Hopefully Kakashi won’t mind….not that the man looks in the freezer anyway. He barely knows how to use his own kitchen!

Turns out she likes strawberry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyway, here's the discord server: [here!](https://discord.gg/VkTCQHx) if you're reading this chapter immediately after i post it, i'll be sleeping ksdjadkls but leave questions or whatever u wish !!


	11. stalks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter summary: kakashi is GAY

Jiraiya arrives almost a full year after Danzo’s death, with no Tsunade in tow. While he is a man known for… less than savory ambitions, he’s also one of the strongest shinobi Konoha has at its disposal. Toshiro thinks they would do better with a leader who was known for their _smarts_ rather than their strength.

By the time Jiraiya has _reluctantly_ settled into his role as interim Hokage (settled by the fact that _no,_ this isn’t a ploy to get him into the village permanently and _yes,_ Uchiha Itachi will take his place), the Hatake household contains three more members. 

Of the eight, five now reside within the Hatake Compound. Chiasa, Sai, Kojika, Touma, and Takehiko. Remaining is the identified third oldest child, the boy with light, sandy brown hair and startling silver eyes; Haruki, now maybe-nine with dirty blond hair and honey colored eyes, the scar still prominent on his face, as is the missing chunk of his right ear; the last is the girl with mahogany hair and muddy green eyes, who’s the second youngest and having the hardest time readjusting. 

(It’s not long, however, before the third oldest calls himself _Gin,_ a nod to the stunning color of his eyes.)

“When do we each get our own puppy?” Kojika asks, tugging on Kakashi’s shirt with her hand. At maybe-ten she’s comically shorter than him, reaching just past his waist. Her lavender hair is tied into a bun that mimics Toshiro’s frequent hospital-ready look.

Kakashi puts a hand on her head and shakes it gently, “When your three other siblings get here.”

Kojika nods resolutely, “Pack’s not complete yet.”

“Pack’s not complete yet.” Kakashi repeats in agreement.

Five children is already a very full household. The only blessing is that no matter what they choose, all must receive education. Whether that’s at the Academy or a civilian school is completely up to them. As it is, none of the five currently in their custody have chosen the civilian life. Even Kojika, who likes gardening and reading books about animals and cringes at the sight of blood, reluctant to harm. (Trauma induced probably, but it’s not an awful trait. _Kindness._ )

“I wanna be like you,” She murmurs, doey brown eyes glimmering up at him. “A medic nin. I wanna help people, and to do that I need to be a shinobi.”

It rouses a heady, flowering tenderness in his chest that he can hardly fathom. Compartmentalizing and denying his emotions for so long, locking his previous personality traits in the freezer to become _Toshiro_ and not — 

Him. The man he was. 

He’s always known he was human, has always known that this world tried to separate _humans_ and _shinobi_ like they were two contrasting species. That’s what he’s fighting for, after all. The allowance of shinobi to _be._

Just be.

Kind. Cared for. Happy.

That had never applied to _him,_ though. It’s like Kakashi had pointed out. Toshiro didn’t care about _Toshiro._ But when he peers into Kojika’s eyes, when he tucks Touma into bed, when he sees Sai’s eyes grow warmer by the day, Takehiko’s laughs get a little more genuine, Chiasa’s words a little less stilted — when he sees Kakashi; sharp as a blade and utterly, entirely _electrifying._ From that shock of _ridiculous_ silver hair to the bursts of energy he feels tingle across his flesh whenever they brush—

He thinks he’s suddenly remembering how to be human.

* * *

Their lives work.

Kakashi goes on his missions. The kids go to the Academy. Toshiro works himself to the bone at the hospital, constantly keeping his hands in fifteen different pots at all times. From the now monthly Clan Quartet cook-outs to the meetings with the Aburame, to hanging out with Inoka, Shisui and Hoshika, or Gai and Genma and all the others, to dodging Fugaku’s marriage contracts (which feel more like a joke at this point) while simultaneously managing to have discussions with Itachi about the future.

Or playing shogi with Fuyumi.

He refuses to do so with Shikaku, no matter how much the man attempts to weedle a game out of him. That’s a game Toshiro would only lose.

Toshiro is exhausted. Utterly and constantly. The only reason he’s not dropped dead is the fact that they aren’t at war, and the hospital has a lot more competent medic-nin than it ever has. Probably more at one time than there’s been in most of Konoha’s official history.

Itachi is especially interested in Academy re-education. Toshiro is only flattered and happy to know that the younger boy apparently thinks him worthy to listen to. It’s never about _asking._ Toshiro isn’t about to demand that Itachi change things _exactly as Toshiro wants._ Because this is a group effort. 

Telling Itachi what he’s noticed, the fallacies and problems that affect certain areas of education — _that’s_ how he operates. He highlights the issue, sets it before Itachi, and asks the man _what will you do now?_

Because Itachi is to be a leader. And he should eat from no one's hand.

* * *

“Hi sensei!” A girl, about two or three years younger than him, waves at him in the hallways of the hospital. Her cheeks are rosy pink and she leans into her other friend, giggling softly when he sends a confused, slightly belated wave back.

He’s quite certain she’s a recent student. One Yukimura-sensei has been training — and it’s a relief that there’s more help in the teaching department, trying to run those classes between him and one other had been awful. (But worth it.)

Yukimura-sensei is suited for teaching, anyway. Her soft, kind demeanor and easy laugh is just as effective as his own in making shinobi learn via positive reinforcement. 

….He’d learned it from her, after all.

Sometimes his blunt, cutting nature still shone through, however. _A genius shinobi of the mind_ they’d called him. They were right. Having an adult mind while in a child’s body let him process extreme trauma in a way that….differed from the way a child would. After being dropped into the system, he’d never tried to hide how he spoke and acted like an adult, even when his body was four years old, so weak and feeble and soft.

You adapt to survive. So he did.

It’s funny, actually. Now that he thinks about it, all this political mumbo-jumbo and carefully thought out discussion had made him less….foul mouthed. At fifteen he’d been so uncaring in social aspects, wild with ideas and the memory of bloodshed. _Fuck_ had been a staple word in his thoughts, if not his mouth.

And now?

He finds himself leaning back on the couch, idly noting Chiasa and Sai doing homework at the kitchen table. Touma and Takehiko are rolling around with the dogs, Touma is a lot more verbal and outgoing than his little brother, who mostly just nods at the appropriate intervals with wide eyes. Kojika is at Shikamaru’s house, her and Sai in the same class as Shikamaru and his friends. They’d easily accepted her into the fold. Sai was a little harder, however. He preferred to be alone, but recently spoke about a quieter boy named Shino and a little girl named Hinata.

 _Now,_ he thinks to himself, settled in a home that’s bursting with life, on a path of life he’d never imagined for himself, _There are impressionable minds around._

* * *

Gin idolizes Kakashi. 

It’s rather cute, actually. When he comes home with them, he’s wearing dark clothes and a face mask. The kind that people wear at hospitals — so at least it’s a little more personalized than just straight up covering his face and neck with deep navy/black fabric. He’s amassed a collection of white masks with different mouth shapes drawn on. Every morning he picks a different one depending on his mood. 

Kakashi looks at him like he has no idea how to proceed.

“It’s adorable.” Toshiro says, watching Gin show Takehiko how to correctly hold a kunai. Kakashi peeks over the top of his book at the two, humming. They’re both sitting on the engawa, a tray of mochi between them, half-eaten. Toshiro’s fingers are dusted with the remnants of powdery sugar. 

“You know, it rather is.” And there’s an eye-smile that follows, genuine in a way Kakashi very rarely lets himself show.

(Except it’s starting to become more commonplace. Toshiro’s noticed.)

“Kaka-nii! Toshi-nii!” A little voice calls, and they both glance over to see Takehiko pointing excitedly at the target, where his kunai has hit the center. Gin stands beside him, silver eyes proud. Today his mask has a smirk drawn on. Fitting.

“Good job!” Toshiro calls back, and he really means it. Though they may be children, they’re learning at their own pace and that’s all he can ask for. 

* * *

Finding Kakashi attractive is easy to ignore when they’re kept so busy. Of course, it’s as he notes this fact that it begins to change. First, the Aburame deal is complete. There’s nothing more to discuss and there’s nothing more to do for renovations aside from wait for it to be done. It’s just a waiting game now that everything in the legal documentation department has been dealt with. Contracts signed, proposals approved, staff hired. Open communication remained between the Aburame and Toshiro — which essentially meant he was the go-between for the Hatake, Uchiha, Nara, Yamanaka and Akimichi. 

Anything to bring the clans together, he supposes. It’ll be hard, since the Aburame are connected to the Inuzuka and Hyūga. It wouldn’t be as seamless as the Ino-Shika-Cho clans had been. The other three clans didn’t have that same closeness, nor did they heavily intermingle. The Hyūga especially weren’t the most welcoming of clans, and Toshiro didn’t have a very high opinion of them to begin with, seeing as they thought sealing their children and turning half their family into slaves was okay.

Those were worries for a future Toshiro. 

With that out of the way, he feels a little less suffocated by all the work he has to do. He finds a schedule that suits him, planning times to visit people carefully as to allow him some free time.

And Kakashi is asked to take on a team. A Genin team. 

“I have no interest in teaching kids.” Is what he tells Toshiro, when the kids are at the Academy and they both have a free moment. The days are still warm enough to let them sit out on the engawa and experience the day. The backyard is much nicer, rock garden restored and flowers blooming in a more orderly manner.

Kakashi owns little else but pants and long-sleeve shirts in black, varying from soft fabric for lounging and Shinobi-grade for his Jounin ensemble; so he wears the kind for lounging now. Toshiro can’t help but think the man would look nice in a kimono or yukata.

He himself is wearing one — a yukata, that is — the fabric soft cotton, dyed forest green. Bare feet tucked beneath him and hair loose around his shoulders, Toshiro is comfortable. More than just physically. 

“You’re good at it,” he says, thinking of the way Kakashi treats the six currently in their care.

“Being their guardian is different,” Kakashi insists, “I’m treating them like _Hatake,_ because that’s what they are. Besides, our kids are in a league of their own.”

 _Prodigies._ Toshiro hasn’t forgotten. It’s sometimes easy to pretend that they _are_ normal kids, even when they aren’t. There are times they act so childish — all while able to understand certain concepts with near jounin-level comprehension. 

He’s almost able to ignore how the way Kakashi had said _our kids_ makes his heart flutter. Then he decides that….well, he doesn’t _have_ to ignore it. He lets the soft, sugary feeling fill his chest until he’s fit to burst. Attraction? Certainly. A crush? Possibly. Very likely, actually. And it’s fine.

Honestly.

Being reborn and losing his family is one thing. It’ll stick with him forever. How could it not? But a lost love….while painful and devastating, with a little time and effort it was possible to recover. It’s been twenty years since he was brought into this new world. Everything has changed and he’s grown into a new person, with new goals and new dreams and new desires. Humans were like cockroaches in a sense, able to bounce back from impossible odds. So he feels it in his gut when the moment comes, and the thought finally hits him. 

_It’s time to move on._

He looks at Kakashi and feels the stirrings of hope.

* * *

Kakashi gives the genin the Bell Test. (Capitalized to emphasize the importance, of course.) They fail, and he tries not to let his smug happiness show when he informs the Interim Hokage. Jiraiya clearly doesn’t buy it, but can’t do anything to change Kakashi’s mind, nor does he seem particularly inclined to _care._ Which, fair. The guy probably has a lot more to worry about than three almost-genin who could just try again next year.

Kakashi does not envy him.

Teaching a genin team is a veiled attempt to keep him under control, or perhaps _under surveillance._ He knows the old crones in the Council don’t trust his sudden rise to the Hatake Seat, but frankly there isn’t much they can do about it when Toshiro has half the clans in his pocket — meaning Kakashi has a lot of allies who are willing to support his decision with open arms. They’ve already signed all their alliance contracts and what-not, because despite being in the same village, clans operated differently. Clans had secrets, information and jutsu privy only to their members, village be damned. As they were all Konoha shinobi, everyone was an _ally,_ but two clans having an _alliance_ meant that they shared some things with each other that they didn’t with everyone else.

If the Elders on the Council had any brains they’d realize that there’s no way Kakashi can be stopped. His loyalty is to his village. _Which means he’ll do anything to protect it, even if that meant tearing it down to cull the rotting parts._

Kakashi is a pack animal who’d lost his first pack, driven to near death as he struck out at everything and everyone. Throwing his life into being a shinobi had only turned him into a rabid dog who needed to be watched, to be _put down._ He’d needed direction, something to fill the void left by his abandonment of rules and regulations, of _pack._

Then Toshiro happened.

Blazing like the sun, an inferno where others only held the slightest candle-flicker of the so-called _Will of Fire._ Revolutionary, gravitational, inspiring — addicting.

Kakashi has made more mistakes in his life than he feels he could ever make up for. Yet when he looks at Toshiro, when he listens to the man’s ideas and watches those dreams burst into reality — Kakashi thinks that maybe, just maybe, he can be useful. He can make something of his miserable existence. 

_Minato-sensei, are you watching? He’s the storm of change you always wanted to be. Obito, can you see it? You’d have been a great Hokage with Toshiro at your side._

That’s not to say that Kakashi feels bitter at Itachi’s promotion. He’s glad. As glad as one can be, really. But it hurts a bit like a day-old bruise, the idea that the first Uchiha Hokage is not Obito. If only, if only, if only. 

(He’s selfish.)

Because Kakashi, for the first time in as long as he can remember, is glad he’s alive. It’s nerve-wracking and terrible, nauseating and headache-inducing, but every day is easier and now he doesn’t know what he would do without _this._

His clan. Eight little Hatake kids who will be _nothing like him, not if he has anything to say about it._ His — whatever Toshiro is. Best friend? Obito usually takes that title by default, even if the truth of the matter is that they’d hated each other up until the last ten minutes of the Uchiha’s life. Gai, for all the Kakashi will deny it out loud, probably knows Kakashi better than he knows himself. That man easily slots into the _best friend_ position.

Kakashi knows everything doesn’t need a title. It’s a habit of his, keeping everything orderly and in boxes, that way it’s easy for him to sort through the muck of his thoughts. For whatever reason, however, he can’t stop himself from _searching._ Wondering.

The fact of the matter is that Toshiro smells like mint.

Like earth and sugar. Ink and rubbing alcohol. In the dark his hair looks beige, and in the sun it’s the palest shade of gold he’s ever laid eyes on. When he smiles, it’s warm and wide and not at all crooked, his nose scrunching and cheeks pulling at freckles. There are silvery scars all over his arms, from working with ninja wire and chakra strings as his main weapon. He has a slice in his hip from a kunai that he’d gotten when he was eight, the first of many times he’d almost been gutted by enemy nin while a child on the battlefield. Sometimes when Toshiro lounges around the house in his shinobi blues rather than a yukata, he’ll reach up and a flash of skin around his waist will be revealed.

And Kakashi.

He’s.

Unable to understand why his eyes are glued to that barest hint of skin — of flesh he’s seen a million times before when they train — or why it makes his palms sweat and his stomach drop to his feet. 

And Toshiro smells good.

Kakashi doesn’t know if it’s the mint or whatever, but he follows the man around the house like a…. _like a dog._ And Toshiro doesn’t seem to notice, just pulls him into conversation. So they talk and Kakashi hovers and he pretends he doesn’t feel hot and guilty when Toshiro reaches or bends or — or — _or._ Pulls his hair up. High in a bun. Loose strands around his face and a few strays curling at the back of his neck. His neck. Bare. Pale, dotted with the faintest few freckles, the bumps of vertebrae appearing with certain movements. 

_Kakashi is a pack animal._

* * *

“I don’t know if I want to marry.” Itachi admits, soft and curious, as though amazed by the very words he speaks. 

The Uchiha Compound is very familiar by now, not a single member of the Clan looks twice when he strolls in. They even greet him, and he sees more than a few others who are clearly _not_ Uchiha wandering around with their Uchiha friends. It’s so much more open than it was before, when he’d first walked in years ago and been bombarded with suspicious glances.

They’re in Itachi’s home — he still lives with his parents in the main house — tucked in the living room at the low table, tea already poured. Both Fugaku and Mikoto aren’t here, which is perhaps the only reason Itachi is even saying this. The boy has been under a lot of pressure lately, with his Hokage inauguration next year and the culmination of his marriage contract two years after. _Married at eighteen, with no say in it._

“This girl, do you know her?” Is what Toshiro asks.

The fifteen-year-old dips his head in the slightest movement, “Yes. Uchiha Izumi. We’re fifth cousins. It was arranged shortly after my birth.”

Toshiro very carefully does not grimace at the idea of marrying a cousin, _fifth_ or not. Clans did a lot of that…. _distant inbreeding_ to keep themselves pure. The Uchiha were especially purist. Or at least their traditions were. Times _were_ changing, though. Shisui hadn’t asked Hoshika to marry him yet, but everyone who knew them was well aware it would happen anytime now. That was the farthest thing from _inbreeding._

 _However Shisui convinced the Uchiha Elders to stop bothering him, I’ll never know._

“Do you like her?”

“Yes.” Itachi says after a moment. “But…”

_Not like that._

The medic nods, “I see. Well, not to throw your brother under the bus, but that marriage contract you’re in is only because you were expected to be Clan Head, right?”

Itachi frowns over his tea cup, “I won’t take advantage of a loophole if it ends in Sasuke’s misery.”

Toshiro grins, his usual soft, sunny disposition traded for a sharper, shark-like persona he’d picked up from Fuyumi. It’s actually her he needs to thank for this next suggestion. “Not if you take advantage of it when he graduates from the academy in two years.”

Itachi halts, his cup half-way to his mouth. His dark eyes grow marginally wider, slight enough to be a trick of the light. “He graduates a year before I’m expected to marry.”

“He does.” Toshiro replies, one brow raised, “And as a genin he’s an adult in the eyes of the law, and his first duty is to Konoha. _Meaning_ — he’s legally unable to be forced into an arranged marriage against his will.”

“The clan will still try to get him to accept one.” Itachi warns, but his gaze has gone a bit distant in thought, “They’ll use his desire to be useful against him.”

“Two years, Itachi.” He holds up two fingers cheekily. “I think Sasuke will have found himself by then. He’s already well on his way out of your shadow.”

The Uchiha nods, a soft smile flickering across his tired features. “His friends are good for him.”

“They make him feel less alone. He still loves you, of course. But now he’s not hurt when you’re unable to hang out with him, because he has _fun_ on his own. Fun he creates by being Sasuke.” It wasn’t hard to see how desperately Sasuke had idolized his older brother, or how detached the boy had felt from a clan that saw him as a spare.

(They didn’t feel that way anymore, of course. Perhaps they never had. Sasuke’s self confidence left much to be desired.)

Itachi sighs, and this time the smile that graces his features stays for more than a second. “I’m glad.”

* * *

“Shika-nii!” Touma tackles the boy, laughing when Shikmaru just takes it and groans. 

Toshiro wonders if he should stop calling this event the Clan Quartet Cook-out when the Hatake are now considered a Clan of their own. So. Five clans. Quintet?

Either way, they all show up, Touma and Kojika fighting for Shikamaru’s attention and getting dragged away into whatever trouble he, Ino, Sasuke, Chouji and Naruto get into. Actually, there’s another girl here today, which is only a little surprising. Naruto wasn’t part of one of the present Clans, but no one had really questioned his presence. That didn’t really mean others came, unless the person was in a relationship with an attending clan member. 

The girl has pink hair and glances around with wide eyes at everything. She seems to get along with the kids, but appears a little on the quieter side and throws Sasuke looks every once in a while that reminds Toshiro of the way Ino once acted. 

Takehiko sticks by Gin’s side and lets his older brother do most of the talking. They both wander over to the group — which Toshiro’s mind names ‘Shika’s squad’. Chiasa settles into a cluster of kids that look her own age, and Toshiro is pretty sure she attends class with one of the Nara girls. 

The one that sits off to the side, doodling in his sketchbook and observing everyone around him, is Sai. Getting him to socialize is difficult, especially when the boy seems so terribly _bad_ at it. He’s in the same class as Kojika, Gin and Shika’s squad, yet never really tries to interact outside of his siblings or the Aburame boy, Shino. But even Sai’s mentions of his maybe-friend are infrequent. 

“What is it?” Kakashi asks, slumped beside him with a plate of food in his hand. Toshiro is pretty sure there’s a genjutsu around his face, because he’s somehow eating through the mask. 

_Definitely genjutsu._

A flick of his rosy eyes in the direction of their most troublesome child immediately draws Kakashi to attention.

“Ah,” he says, clearing his throat.

Toshiro frowns, “Yeah. I know he’s probably just...introverted...but…”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine.” Kakashi grins, and his eye curves into that cresent, smiley shape. Their shoulders brush as he leans forward a bit.

Heart fluttering at the contact, Toshiro eyes the other man, “What makes you say that?”

Kakashi points a finger, chopsticks curled in his other fist. Toshiro follows the digit back to Sai, who’s been joined by another in the time he’d looked away. Yamanaka Ino stands over Sai’s sitting form, her hand extended and a determined gleam in her pupil-less eyes. There’s a flower crown on Sai’s head, and a dumbfounded look on his pale face. The flowers — both yellow — are pansies and roses. 

_Thinking of you. Friendship._

As expected of a Yamanaka to extend the hand of friendship in more than one language.

When they go home, Sai very quietly whispers that he’d like a book on the language of flowers.

* * *

Visiting Haruki and the youngest girl becomes a Clan event. Continued exposure to a family environment is considered healthy, and the Yamanaka think Haruki will be ready to come home in the next few weeks.

They’d finally gotten him to sleep through the night for a consecutive _month_ without night terrors. And he no longer was so disoriented upon waking that he attacked whoever was closest. It’s a relief. Toshiro knows that Haruki does miss his siblings, even if he doesn’t mention it when they’re all together. 

The honey-eyed boy has a bit of a temper, and he’s prone to bouts of irritability, but it’s no longer a problem that feels excessively violent. He’s been with the Yamanaka for a little over a year at this point, and now he’s just a headstrong, quick-tempered maybe-nine year old. There’s no doubt in his desire to be a ninja, Toshiro only worries because he’s the only nine year old of the group. Chiasa is eleven; Sai, Gin and Kojika are ten, Touma is eight and Takehiko is seven. All a year older than they’d been when they’d been found. 

Haruki being the only one his age means that he’ll be alone in the Academy. At least for a bit, before he makes his own friends. Which Toshiro is sure that he can, and there’s at least an Akimichi girl and Uchiha boy in that class that he can nudge the boy towards if need be. 

(Not that Haruki _has_ to be friends with them, but it’s probably better to at least be _friendly_ to people you’ll end up seeing all the time since their clans are allied.)

It’s the girl they’re worried about the most.

She’s Takehiko’s age, noted as being a few months older. The blank, corpse-like expression she’d worn when first rescued has shifted into something more troubled and exhausted. It’s an awful look for a seven year old girl.

“About her…” Inoichi pulls him aside, and they watch the Hatake Clan interact in the yard beyond the Yamanaka main house. Dogs and children running without care, all but Sai, who’s doodling beside Kakashi and the girl, who sits with Pakkun in her lap and looks at the scene with unsure eyes. “We don’t think she’s actually from here.”

Toshiro blinks at the man, “What do you mean by that.”

The man grimaces, “We...have reason to believe she was taken from outside Konoha’s walls. Potential even beyond the borders of _Hi no Kuni.”_

Children’s laughter fills the air. A dog barks, another makes a snide remark.

A breeze pushes a few loose strands of ash-blond hair across his cheek. He ignores it. “What brought this on?”

Inoichi’s eyes flicker over to the girl, a little bit grim, a little bit wondrous. _A little bit devastated and hopeful,_ two sides of a coin emerging at once. “Yesterday she manifested chakra chains.”

Sound seems to cease. Toshiro’s mouth opens and no words come. Peach-pink gaze settles on the little girl with dark, blood-red hair. It’s less vibrant, a little too dark for most to ever assume — but Naruto is blond, and his blood emerges in the features of his face and the giant chakra reserves. He looks at her face carefully, wondering if he’ll see some hint of relation between the two of them. He doesn’t.

 _I want you to be positive,_ Is what he’d like to say, but nothing is more positive than chakra chains. Something swells in his chest.

_Defiance._

“Let him have this.” 

Inoichi blinks when Toshiro says this, voice steel and pink eyes sharp with determination. 

He doesn’t ask who the ‘ _him’_ is. (Inoichi is smarter than that.) “The Sandaime..” 

“Can do nothing.” Toshiro cuts him off harshly, “He’s no longer Hokage, and his decree says nothing of _family.”_

The Clan Head furrows his brow — then sighs, relaxing. He gives Toshiro a brief nod. “Of course. To do anything else would be an offense to the Uzumaki, and we’ve failed them far too severely already.”

“Yes,” Toshiro murmurs, watching the little girl again, “We have.”

* * *

He tells her what the chakra chains mean. He spends hours talking about the Uzumaki, about what happened, about what they could do. The sun has disappeared and the rest of the Hatake Clan has gone home, Haruki returning to his room. Kakashi gives him a meaningful glance before leaving — Toshiro is certain he’ll want to be filled in later.

“I don’t want to be a ninja.” She replies, voice soft and far too serious. “I don’t want to.”

“You don’t have to be one.” He promises, “You never have to become something you don’t choose for yourself.”

She purses her lips, her wild, mahogany red hair falling over her eyes. “Even though I have this ability? Even though I’m….one of them?”

_An Uzumaki? Wielding the potential to become just as deadly and powerful as her Clan predecessors? The kind of person any village would be desperate to get their hands on?_

“One of who?” he asks, smiling in false innocence, “You’re a Hatake.”

And she understands. 

Understands that they will lie for her if need be.

Understands that she can be a Hatake, can be safe — and he will tell her whatever she wishes about the Uzumaki, if she ever wants to know. Or she can forget. It’s up to her.

_She can make her own decisions._

“You’re right.” She replies. “I’m Hatake Asuhi.”

Toshiro takes her hand, and she lets him. Her fingers curl around his larger ones, her murky, forest green eyes bright — _free. Asuhi: flying to tomorrow._

“What a pretty name, Asuhi-chan. Would you like to meet your cousin?”

Asuhi takes a breath, “Yes, I would like that very much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> toshi: 20  
> kaka: 23 (soon to be 24)  
> itachi: 15  
> konoha 9: 9-10


	12. first bud

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyway they're pretty cute....

The last two Hatake children come home at the same time. It coincides with one of the big clan bashes, so it’s a bit of a celebration. Toshiro takes the opportunity to pull Naruto aside, his blue eyes wide and curious. Asuhi doesn’t like crowds and doesn’t speak very much. She’s rather shy, but still manages to hold a conversation better than Takehiko, who Toshiro has only ever heard a handful of words from in the entirety of their time together.

She clings to his side, her pale hand curled around his standard chuunin pants — and Naruto squints at her, chubby cheeks puffed.

“What the big idea, Toshi-sensei? Who’s this?”

“This,” he begins, crouching down to their level, “Is your cousin.”

The words don’t seem to compute for a moment, Naruto’s bright eyes flashing wide and his jaw dropping. A noise leaves his throat before he gets ahold of himself, “MY WHAT? SINCE WHEN?”

Asuhi shifts nervously at Naruto’s boisterous reaction, their personalities entirely opposite. Normally Toshiro wouldn’t put stock into the idea of all Uzumaki being inherently energetic, but he can’t help but hope that the little girl will be able to express herself with the same kind of exuberance one day. He puts a steady hand on her shoulder.

“Do you remember a year ago, when part of Konoha was destroyed?” Toshiro interrupts before Naruto can begin a tirade that’s likely to attract attention.

The boy presses his lips together unhappily, “Yeah? It was that bad guy that made Sasuke’s tou-chan lose his leg!”

Very bluntly, Toshiro nods to Asuhi. “Well it turned out he kidnapped some kids. We had no idea she existed, Naruto.” And he definitely noted the initial flash of pain in Naruto’s eyes when told about having a cousin, “It was never our intention to hide her from you. I’m sorry it took so long. And I know it might seem odd, to find yourself in this situation….”

Exceedingly odd, actually. Toshiro didn’t have the first idea of how to explain everything. Naruto was much too young to fully comprehend — and the boy was more of a  _ do-er _ rather than a  _ thinker. _

“But…” Naruto trails off, looking up at Toshiro, “She’s my family, right? Really, really? And that man won’t come back and take her?”

“Never,” Toshiro swears, his mouth forming the shape of a smile like serrated steel, “He’s dead, after all.”

Naruto thinks this over for a moment. “Good.” Then he peers eagerly at Asuhi, “Hey, hey! I’m Uzumaki Naruto! Since we’re family, does that mean we’ll live together? What’s your name?”

Toshiro shifts a little to the side to let Asuhi face the brunt of Naruto’s sunny countenance. She blinks wildly when the boy gets in her face with huge baby blues and a grin that’s all teeth. 

“Hatake Asuhi.” She replies, “And...I don’t know. Toshiro-nii-san and Kakashi-nii-san are my guardians, so I’m living with them.”

Naruto’s smile dims, like it had the night he’d had to leave the Nara Compound — well, before Shikamaru told him to sleepover. “Oh. Haha! That’s fine! I guess my place isn’t really big enough for two people, plus I’m gonna be a ninja, so….I need space!”

Asuhi frowns, “You mean you won’t live with us?”

Naruto blinks. “What?”

She looks up at Toshiro like she’s wondering if she said something wrong, “He’s family, isn’t he? And you guys are my family too, so that means we’re…. _ all _ family. Doesn’t it?”

Toshiro hums, still crouched. He folds his arms around his knees and lays his chin on top, “What do you think, Naruto? You wanna live with us?”

Cerulean shimmers, glossy and wet. Blond brows pull tight, “You’re not kidding me, are you? You’d really let me live with you guys? Honest?”

“Of course.” Toshiro says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “We’re pack, aren’t we?”

Asuhi very carefully takes Naruto’s hand, like she’s still wary of his explosive personality. She looks him in the eye with a serious expression that’s slightly comical on her cherubic features. “There’s a lot of dogs.”

* * *

Kakashi didn’t exactly argue. They’d talked about what would happen, of course, once it was discovered that Asuhi was an Uzumaki. Her carrying the Hatake name did nothing to conceal her blood, after all. Kakashi, more than anyone, knew how much Konoha owed the Uzumaki Clan. He’d been close with Uzumaki Kushina, the wife of Yondaime-sama.

Kakashi’s sensei.

And therein lay the problem.

Toshiro understood. Kakashi carried guilt like he was getting  _ paid _ for it. Perhaps very obviously, Kakashi felt guilty about  _ Naruto. _

(“You were a child.” Toshiro had murmured.

“I was fourteen,” Is what Kakashi replied. “A jounin. His father’s student.”

“What do you feel most guilty about?”

“That it took eight before I got to him.”)

They weren’t allowed to tell him who his father was, not trusting that he wouldn’t brag about it — then again, the boy clung so viciously to the prospect of family, that maybe he wouldn’t. (Not when his father was dead.) So Toshiro urged Kakashi to talk about the one person he could, for the moment.

Uzumaki Kushina.

And that was how Kakashi and Naruto’s first conversation went.

Now he lived with them, taking the nearest open bedroom to Asuhi. Toshiro hears them at night, when they think they’re being sneaky, creeping into each other’s rooms and talking until they fall asleep. They may be cousins, but Naruto claims her as his little sister and Asuhi goes along with it without protest.

It’s very cute.

Technically, Naruto is not theirs by law. He still owns his dingy apartment and still gets a stimulus check every two weeks. No Clan is allowed to formally adopt Naruto, and Kakashi absolutely refuses to give the boy the name Hatake. He won’t take the name  _ Uzumaki _ away, not when he feels he’s taken so much already.

It’s a slow process, getting everyone settled. In a house full of children there’s never a dull moment, especially when one of those kids is Naruto. He’s messy, loud, prone to outbursts and exudes an exhausting amount of energy.

Toshiro loves it. Loves all nine of them and their individual personalities. For a lonely, reborn child-turned-man, the overwhelming abundance of  _ family  _ they established made him feel as if a great weight had been shaken from his shoulders. 

So on the days he can, he drops them off and picks them up at the Academy. Yoshino has quite eagerly taken Asuhi under her wing and homeschools her in preparation for civilian schooling, which begins next year. Civilians had a much looser system of education. There were around four schools for general education, but not everyone went and not everyone finished. It wasn’t required — not like it had been in Toshiro’s previous life. Civilians, if they chose to attend, entered school at eight and finished at fifteen. Generally, most graduated to pursue apprenticeships, trade work, or marriage. 

Toshiro very firmly told Asuhi that he didn’t care whether or not she attended public school or stayed homeschooled,  _ she was finishing her education. _ He also told her to ignore anyone and everyone who tried to convince her that her only path afterwards would be marriage. 

_ You can be whatever you want to be. _

In the end, she chose to give public school a try. Or at least, she intended to. That could change depending on how homeschooling with Yoshino went. Asuhi, for all that she did not want to be a shinobi, was still a prodigy. It was likely she’d become bored and frustrated by the pacing of a public civilian school.

And where better to get a full, prodigy-directed education than from the Nara matriarch herself? Uchiha Mikoto also stopped by often, her and Yoshina having become friends and bonding over their mutual roasting of their husbands. It was hilarious to see how whipped the two men were, even if Mikoto and Fugaku were more subtle about it.

So Asuhi had the attentive care of two matriarchs who would carefully treat her emotionally as the child she was, but verbally like a prodigy. There was a certain line to walk when dealing with a kid of high intelligence — they were still children, prone to be swayed by emotion and seeking comfort, but didn’t deserve to be spoken to as if they were their actual age, because their minds most certainly saw it as being belittled. 

On one such day in which Toshiro is able to pick up the kids from the Academy, he finds himself bearing witness to…. A fight?

“There’s no way a loser like you will be Hokage, get real!” A little boy in a puffy jacket crows, red Inuzuka marks on his cheeks and a puppy in the collar of his hood. 

There are children everywhere, and Naruto somehow separated himself from the group. Toshiro can see Shika’s squad and the Hatake kids not too far away, talking and glancing around for their missing friend. He frowns at the words he just overheard, slipping through the gates and past a few families. 

“You don’t know anything!” Naruto yells in response, his voice high and shrill. “I’m gonna graduate and become a super incredible ninja! I’ll be strong enough to prove it to everyone!”

It’s loud enough to garner the attention of his friends. Naruto’s cheeks are red in anger, his blue eyes flashing — yet there’s a flicker that speaks of resignation. He’s heard this speech too many times before. From the set of his little shoulders, however, Toshiro can see that Naruto’s determination to succeed will not be snuffed out so easily. From the corner of his eye, he can see the group steadily make their way over.

“As if, deadlast!” The Inuzuka boy laughs, “You’ll just have to get in line because  _ I’ll _ be Hokage before you ever come close!”

Toshiro halts upon seeing Shikamaru reach the two arguing boys first.

“Hey,” Shikamaru interrupts, hands in his pockets and a lazy frown on his face. “Don’t be such a pain, Kiba.”

“Yeah!” Ino pops up by the lazy boy’s elbow, “That’s our future Hokage you’re talking to, dog breath!”

“Excuse you.” Gin mutters, hovering like a wraith behind Naruto, who looks startled at the arrival of his friends. “Hatake here.”

The blond girl coughs, “Er, you know what I meant.”

Kiba scoffs, though his hackles rise when he takes in the size of the group backing Naruto. “I know you act like a complete sack, but I thought you were supposed to be  _ smart,  _ Shikmaru. Why don’t you forget this guy and be  _ my _ Advisor instead?”

“Shikamaru’s mine!” Naruto exclaims vehemently, letting out a war cry and promptly decking Kiba across the face. The Inuzuka lets out his own yell before moving to retaliate.

_ Time to intervene. _

“Boys!” Toshiro scolds, appearing in a flash between the two kids and nabbing both of them by the backs of their coats while they’re mid-lunge.

“Hey!” Kiba exclaims, wiggling fiercely, “Let me go!”

Naruto hangs limply, arms crossed and a scowl on his face. He looks completely unrepentant. Toshiro sighs.  _ What troublesome children. _

“Inuzuka-kun, it’s not nice to put down other’s dreams.” He says, finally dropping the boy. Then he carefully places Naruto down, watching for any movement that may indicate their desire to restart getting physical. “And Naruto, you shouldn’t raise your fists to your future fellow shinobi, not over words you know aren’t true.”

The Inuzuka scoffs again, but Toshiro doesn’t look at him. He looks at Naruto, meeting those frustrated blue eyes with vibrant, calming pink. After a moment, Naruto huffs and turns his nose up, calmer but not losing all of his famed Uzumaki temper.

“Quit picking on Naruto.” Sasuke sends a glare he must have learned from his father at Kiba, standing side by side with Ino. They make an adorably intimidating sight together.

“Yeah, it’s better to just be friends.” Chouji adds sincerely.

Kojika peers around the Akimichi, stuttering as she tries to appear assertive, “A-And don’t bring Shika-nii into it! He’s definitely Naruto’s!”

Toshiro puts a hand over his mouth to hide a smile and stifle the laugh he so desperately wants to let out. The little Nara is staring up at the sky with a  _ woe is me _ expression, complete exasperation in his eyes and a scarlet flush on his cheeks.

“Whatever!” Kiba pulls at his eyelid and sticks out his tongue, “I’ll just prove you wrong!”

Then he runs off, scowling at Toshiro as he passes.

_ What an energetic child, _ he thinks. A bit like Naruto, actually. They could probably be friends if the two of them stopped getting distracted by their pride.

“Toshi-sensei!” Ino tugs at his shirt.

He glances down, offering her a smile. Oh well, they’re kids. They’ll work it out eventually. “Yes?”

The Yamanaka looks up at him eagerly, “Can Sai come over today? We’re going to do some gardening together!”

“Oh,” he murmurs, glancing over her head to the pale boy hovering at the edge of the group. His face is expressionless as usual, but there’s an undercurrent of nerves in his dark eyes, like he thinks Toshiro will say no. “Of course. Is anyone else going?”

“Just Sakura, everyone else is going to Chouji’s today.” Ino shrugs, gesturing to the pink haired girl giving Sasuke goo-goo eyes. 

_ Ah, _ Toshiro remembers her from the last clan gathering. She’s civilian born, and from what he knows of her so far, neither of her parents actually know what it takes to be a shinobi.  _ That talk of dieting is what worries me. _

“Sai,” The boy comes at Toshiro’s call, blinking upward. Toshiro ruffles Sai’s dark hair with a soft smile, “Have fun today, okay? Try to be home by eight if you end up having dinner with Ino-chan and Sakura-chan.”

Sai nods resolutely, always a little too serious. Ino beams up at him and grabs Sai’s hand. He startles, but she’s already whirling him away with Sakura at her heels. Toshiro observes them leave with no small amount of amusement, the bubbly blond swinging their hands as they walk and chattering excessively to Sai, who merely watches with wide eyes.

_ It’s good that he has a friend like Ino. _

“So, you’re going to Chouji’s?”

“Yep!” The Akimichi exclaims.

Gin shifts, Takehiko standing close to his side with a little fist curled in his shirt. “That’s ok, right? We didn’t have dinner planned tonight, did we?”

Because you didn’t visit the Akimichi Compound and not  _ eat. _

With a shake of his head, Toshiro replies, “No, we didn’t. You’ve still got school tomorrow though, so I want you guys back around eight, just like I told Sai.” The slightly downtrodden expressions make him smile. They’re all so cute. “You can have a big sleepover when the weekend hits, don’t fret.”

Touma throws up his arms in joy, letting out a whoop and jumping onto Chouji’s back. The Akimichi boy takes it in good spirit, and soon they’re racing around.

Naruto cheers loudly, arms winding excitedly around Shikamaru’s neck. He shakes the poor boy back and forth. “YAY! Let’s do it at Shikamaru’s house!”

“We did that last time.” The Nara grumbles.

Sasuke pokes Naruto’s side, making him squirm like a noodle. “It’s my turn to host. Didn’t you want to see Itachi-nii again?”

“You’re right!” Naruto gasps, “He’s gotta help me learn how to be Hokage!”

The two boys begin to squabble a bit, Shikamaru trapped in the middle as usual. He somehow always ends up with Naruto on one side and Sasuke on the other, the two boys clamoring for his attention.  _ My little brother is so popular. _

“Nii-san,” Chiasa murmurs, appearing silently at his side. She’d been talking with some students in her class. “I won’t be joining them. May I go with Nara Tsushika?”

Toshiro glances at the girl he knows to be in Chiasa’s class, her hair pulled in a low pony-tail with the same trademark Nara spikes. “Of course! You heard what I said about curfew, right?”

Chiasa nods. 

“Ok then,” He smiles and can’t resist patting her head. Most of the kids have become resigned to it now due to Kakashi. “Have fun.” Then, loud enough to catch the whole group’s attention, “You can walk with these guys to the Nara Compound, assuming they’re picking up Asuhi.”

“YEAH!” Fist pumped into the air, Naruto bounces on his toes. “We gotta go get Asuhi, ya know!”

It looks like he and Kakashi will be eating dinner alone tonight. It feels as if they haven’t done so in forever.

* * *

They get take-out from one of the Akimichi restaurants. Neither of them are up for cooking and Toshiro has really been craving their soba. Kakashi orders his usual salt-broiled saury with a side of miso — completely typical and not at all adventurous. They sit at the kitchen table, lights low and dogs mysteriously absent. Toshiro thinks they might be out in the yard.

He’s mid-sentence when Kakashi pulls down his mask in full view of Toshiro’s gaze, entirely aware of the fact, and proceeds to eat.

For what it’s worth, Toshiro only pauses for half a second and stutters his next two words before continuing with his story about what he’d witnessed at the academy. 

Kakashi’s face is pale, as expected. His skin is clear and his features mostly symmetrical, bottom lip a little plumper than the top. A straight nose with a bump at the ridge from multiple breaks. High cheekbones, heart shaped jaw — a little beauty mark just below the right corner of his lips. The scar almost reaches it. Toshiro hadn’t realized how long it really was… he’s seen the upper half, the part that shears through a slate gray eyebrow and into the flesh of Kakashi’s forehead. It’s unnervingly straight — the telltale sign of a blade inflicted wound — and spans almost the entire length of Kakashi’s face. When Kakashi’s mouth moves to chew, the turn of his lips puckers the bottom of the scar. 

Then there’s the teeth.

Toshiro tries hard not to stare. He’s being trusted here, with Kakashi’s most desperately kept secret.  _ His face. _ It wouldn’t do to act like a fool — yet he’s already intensely interested in mapping out every little feature of the man he calls his closest friend.

But back to the teeth.

_ Kakashi has fangs. _ If Toshiro didn’t know any better, he’d say Kakashi was an  _ Inuzuka _ with a mouth of pearly-whites like that. He straight up has  _ dog teeth. _ It’s fitting, and Toshiro does wonder if the teeth are a side effect of his blood or his contract with the nin dogs. (Technically one in the same, since only Hatake have access to the summons.)

Kakashi’s face is, overall, frightfully pretty. It makes Toshiro’s heart drop to his feet and butterflies press at his throat. He stuffs soba noodles into his mouth to stop from stuttering out something stupid during a pause in the conversation. Whether Kakashi wore his mask or not, Toshiro’s budding feelings were already established. They  _ had been,  _ before ever witnessing the unfairly attractive features of Hatake Kakashi. The man could have looked like anything.

So, of course he was beautiful.

“In a few weeks the kids will get their dogs.” Kakashi mutters, tongue flicking along a sharp incisor. “It might be better to introduce one dog at a time. I’m not sure yet…. I didn’t have any siblings.” There was a sharp quirking of his mouth. “So I suppose we’ll figure it out as we go.”

It’s so  _ weird. _ Seeing Kakashi  _ smile. _ Or semi-smile. It’s a crooked one, too, the left side pulling a little higher than the right. Toshiro feels utterly smitten at the sight. How disgustingly unfair.

“You hate not having a plan.” He swallows around a mouthful of soba. “You’re basically half Nara. And you want to wing it?”

A steel gray brow rises, pale lips twitching once more into something resembling a grin. Questioning and amused. Kakashi’s expressions are so much easier to read now. (Obviously.) Weird. “There isn’t a guidebook for Hatake life. I checked. If there was, it’s long gone.”

Toshiro pushes a few noodles around with his chopsticks. “Then ask your dogs.”

Kakashi purses his lips, contemplating. “Huh. I suppose I will.”

They don’t mention Kakashi’s bare face. At some point, Toshiro makes Kakashi laugh. The smile is wide and crooked, displaying sharp teeth and a flash of red tongue. His scar pulls and his eye narrows but doesn’t shift into the closed, half-moon shape that he uses as a substitute. Toshiro memorizes the look, because now he knows what shape Kakashi’s eye takes when he’s  _ actually _ smiling. 

In the face of such a sight, Toshiro jabs himself in the chin with his chopsticks and spills soba into his lap. He does not miss the calculating look Kakashi levels him when he frantically moves to clean the mess. 

It makes his heart leap.  _ Does he know? Does he suspect? Would it matter? _

Then Kakashi drawls that  _ ‘if you’ve gotten so clumsy, maybe we should up your training regimen’ _ and Toshiro can only scowl half-heartedly because the man is a slave driver.

They do the dishes together. Kakashi washes, Toshiro dries. The older man uses the opportunity to flick stray drops of water in Toshiro’s direction. 

“Don’t start this fight,” Tosihro mutters, elbowing Kakashi gently in the side. “I’m the one with a water nature.” It didn’t matter that Kakashi probably knew twice as many jutsus, they would always be harder to perform since his chakra nature was the natural opposite. Having a water nature combined with Toshiro’s excellent chakra control — as long as Kakashi didn’t use his sharingan,  _ the cheat  _ — meant it was  _ Toshiro _ that would wipe the floor in a water-only battle.

Strictly water ninjutsu only.  _ Strictly. _ Kakashi could still kick Toshiro’s ass in taijutsu with one hand tied behind his back. At least they were on the same level genjutsu-wise….again, sharingan excluded.  _ What a hack. _

“I’m so scared.” Kakashi’s lips curl, expression mocking. He’s yet to pull his mask back up. 

It remains bunched around his neck until the children get home.

* * *

Medic-Nin very rarely get out of a surgery when it comes to being ‘too close’ to a patient. Civilian doctors seem to have some code where if you’re related to the patient, there’s a potential conflict of interest that prevents you from making the most sane and logical choices. It means they aren’t allowed to operate on their loved ones unless there’s  _ no other option. _ In the shinobi world, there is no such rule. Medic-Nin are expected to operate on their comrades  _ constantly. _ It’s why they go out in the field. 

It’s why Toshiro has learned to turn his emotions off and just  _ work. _

Their relationship was born on a hospital bed. He’s had to rearrange Kakashi’s guts before, has been the reason for many healed scars littering the Copy Nin’s skin. The man’s blood has coated his hands, his clothes, his safety mask. He’s seen Hatake Kakashi near-dead at least ten times.

It doesn’t get easier. In fact it starts to feel worse.

That doesn’t stop Toshiro from doing his job.

A jounin leaps into the hospital from the second-floor shinobi entrance — the one Toshiro had insisted upon because shinobi fast traveled through the trees and it created a bridge from the forest straight into the hospital — toting an unconscious Kakashi over one shoulder. Crimson drips and smears against the ground. 

Toshiro feels himself pale, feels his heart stutter in fear — the kind of fear he hasn’t felt in a long, long time. He snaps on his gloves and barks out orders, pushing a team to set up one of the hospital’s operating rooms. Operations go a bit differently here. There’s the usual surgical procedures, mainly used for less severe injuries, but the go-to is medical sealing arts. The success rate was far greater, especially concerning ninja and their chakra-related injuries.

Kakashi has a broken leg, two bleeding, burnt hands, and a hole in his gut. The gut wound is the most concerning wound, so they prep the room and place his still body at the center of the sealing array. Upon proceeding, black ink curls over his body, expanding and shifting with the force of collaborative chakra. The flesh of his bare abdomen seems to writhe and shiver, new cells growing at an extremely rapid rate. They need to regrow part of his large intestine and part of his liver, as well as repair the overlaying muscle and fatty tissue. 

Sweat drips down the side of Toshiro’s face and off the tip of his nose. He tastes salt at his lips. His sharp, peach-pink gaze never wavers from Kakashi’s pale, pained form. When they’d stripped him of his shirt, Toshiro had placed one of the standard hospital masks around the man’s face. It’s not like it mattered — but it was habit to protect what Kakashi held close, and that included his face.

It takes eight hours. Then another three to fix in the damage in his leg. Toshiro is beginning to run low on chakra. This is usually around the time he takes a break and switches out with another Medic-Nin on duty, but he can’t bring himself to leave until he knows he’s healed Kakashi to the best of his ability. 

When they finally get to the hands, Toshiro taps out. There’s less need for the sealing array now. The hands can be healed on their own, with fewer Medic-Nin present. Toshiro does not have the chakra to keep going. He would have, if he hadn’t already been at the end of his shift when the man came in.

Toshiro strips his scrubs off in the changing room and takes a shower. He finishes quickly, tying still damp hair up in a bun. It’s far, far past the time he should have left. Which reminds him —

Shisui appears at his side when he takes a step out of the changing room.

“Your kids are sound asleep, Shiro-chan!”

He blinks, “Oh. What time is it?”

The Uchiha hooks an arm through Toshiro’s, subtly directing him in his exhaustion. They wander steadily through the halls. “Almost 6AM, baby! Your Director sent a missive to your house to let the kids know you and Kakashi wouldn’t be home last night. So of course, since all the little troublemakers were hanging around, Sasuke told us and….ta-da! Mikoto-sama had me babysit!”

“Oh no.”

“Hey! I’ll have you know I’m an excellent babysitter!”

Toshiro laughs, pressing his cheek to Shisui’s shoulder and sighing at the warmth he finds there.  _ Uchiha are always so warm.  _ Like a portable heating pack. “Is that why Sasuke runs screaming every time he sees you?”

Shisui pouts, fluttering his absurdly long eyelashes. (Which just looks like rapid winking, with his one visible eye.) “That kid’s just a stick in the mud.”

Huffing out a brief laugh, Toshiro rolls his eyes, “Tell me there’s still a Hatake Compound.”

“There was only one fire,” Shisui says, like it’s an accomplishment. “Nothing was terribly burnt.”

“Oh, good.” It kind of  _ was _ an accomplishment, with Shisui involved. “Where’s your better half?”

Shisui pinches Toshiro’s side in retaliation, then moves his arm to wrap around Toshiro’s waist. He’s very touchy-feely for an Uchiha. “At the house now. I wanted to be the one to pick you up!”

“You didn’t need to.” He tries to say, but finds himself leaning heavily on the taller man.

One dark eye looks down at him with an expression that can only mean  _ yeah right. _ “You’re dead on your feet, Shiro-chan. Someone had to come and make sure you didn’t just pass out on that ratty futon in your office.”

He scrunches his nose, a little offended, “My futon isn’t  _ ratty.” _

“Sure, sure,” Shisui acquiesces, “And I have two working eyes.”

Toshiro huffs. “Take me home already.”

A clenching in his gut — and the streets before the hospital shift into the gate leading to the Hatake Compound.  _ Shunshin no Shisui _ strikes again. Toshiro bites his thumb and swipes chakra-infused blood down the bars, igniting the seals with a flash. The gate clicks open. Shisui drags him along to the main house, kicking the gate closed behind him with a foot.

Hoshika steps out the front door to greet them, her amber-brown eyes tired but alert. She scratches at her cheek, dark hair out of the usual poiny-tail and wildly messy. “Hey. How’s Hatake?”

Toshiro flashes her a quick smile, “He’ll live. Sorry you had to deal with this.”

She shrugs, “It’s nothin’. Your kids aren’t as much of a pain as some others.”

“And it’s good practice!” Shisui chips in, squeezing Toshiro tight and pulling him up the low steps to the engawa.

Toshiro turns his gaze to Hoshika’s stomach with poorly hidden surprise. 

She scowls and flicks Shisui’s forehead when he gets close, “I’m not pregnant.”

“You could be.” The Uchiha wiggles his visible eyebrow.

“Anyway,” Toshiro clears his throat loudly, hopelessly fond and amused. “Thanks for this.”

Hoshika bumps his shoulder. “Stop thanking us, it’s a pain. Now get inside and sleep.”

They usher him inside, boxing him in and making quips to each other. Toshiro feels his eyelids grow heavy, heart swelling with warmth — and safety. He’s safe here, between these two. Who would have thought? The boy who wanted nothing to do with anyone throughout childhood now found himself an adult, desperate for it.  _ For friendship. _

And he has it.

“Eight hours of sleep, Shiro-chan! We’ll make the kiddies eat their greens and take ‘em to the Academy.” Shisui pokes his nose and lays him down. Toshiro blinks in surprise, not even noticing that they’d already gotten to his bedroom. Shisui pulls his sandals off and tucks him in — and Hoshika has to pull him away before he starts doing something stupid like tell a bedtime story.

“Sleep well,” she says, one hand in the collar of Shisui’s shirt. They leave the room, Shisui whining the whole way, one arm outstretched in a pathetic attempt to reach for Toshiro.

He hides his smile in his pillow and shuts his eyes.

When he wakes, he’ll take the kids to visit Kakashi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kakashi has lost all sense of control he's just sitting there, helpless as toshiro picks up more kids. also romance may or may not pick up soon uwu


	13. a little sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all ain't ready for this shit

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

Kakashi clears his throat, pale, scarred fingers brushing the sheets pooled in his lap. Unkempt silver strands fall artfully across his bare forehead and his face is still hidden by the white medical mask Toshiro had put on him almost a whole week ago. The hospital window is open, sunlight streaming in and seals glowing around the sill to stop their voices from floating out of the room. 

His one open eye tracks to the side lazily, “Jiraiya-sama stopped by to make sure we weren’t planning on giving Naruto access to the dog contract.”

Toshiro pauses in his peeling, apple skin sticky against his fingers. He’s on break, and as he’s been doing the whole week Kakashi has been stranded in the hospital, he spends it at Kakashi’s bedside. It’s probably the longest Kakashi has actually _stayed_ in a hospital bed. 

Perks of living with a Medic-Nin, you couldn’t escape to lick your wounds at home.

“Why is that any of his business?” he says, unable to stop his frown. Technically, they couldn’t have Naruto sign the contract, as he wasn’t a Hatake. They never planned to have him do so. The boy was far too _Uzumaki_ over all else. Still… it feels like there’s something he’s forgetting—

“Jiraiya-sama wants Naruto to sign the Toad contract.” 

The beginning hints of _dread_ sink into Toshiro’s heart. Glimpses of Konoha’s history flash through his mind and it clicks together a second later. “He was Yondaime-sama’s sensei.”

The air is still. Kakashi’s dark eye traces Toshiro’s frame, catching whatever emotion his body language doesn’t hide. “You’re angry. That’s unlike you.”

“Is it?”

Kakashi tilts his head, eye flinty with the barest hint of amusement. “You know, I suppose it really isn’t.”

Toshiro doesn’t smile. “I don’t particularly care about what Jiraiya-sama wants.”

“You never do anything by halves, do you?” The Copy Nin drawls, just on the dull side side of exasperation. “I didn’t think you disapproved of the man so heavily.”

Toshiro starts peeling the apple again with swift, practiced motions. “Does naruto know who he is?”

“No.” Kakashi replies, eyeing the knife in Toshiro’s hand.

“Then,” A poisonous smile splits Toshiro’s lips, eyes glittering a toxic shade of rose. The blade in his hand slices the apple into neat little pieces, juice damp and slick on his fingers and palms. “I don’t care what he wants. If he thinks he can waltz into Naruto’s life and start making demands he has another thing coming. Naruto will sign a contract that _he_ decides to sign, if at all. He will learn whatever _he_ wants to learn, from whoever his sensei is or whoever he wishes to train with. Jiraiya-sama, no matter his relation to Naruto’s father, no matter his relation to _Naruto,_ can not expect to face no consequences for his abandonment. Whether that abandonment was for good reason or not doesn’t matter. Naruto is a very forgiving boy.”

He drops the slices on the plate at Kakashi’s bedside table, shaking his hands. “And that easy forgivenness is given because he’s desperate for any kind of relationship, no matter the past offenses. I don’t care if Naruto trains under Jiraiya-sama. I don’t care if he signs the Toad Contract. I care that he decides it for himself, and because I care about him _I’ll_ be the one doling out punishment in his place.”

“He’s Naruto’s godfather.”

Toshiro lines the apple slices up in the shape of a blooming flower, then forcefully puts the plate in Kakashi’s lap. The man accepts it without complaint. He doesn’t move, doesn’t take his eye off of Toshiro.

Wiggling his sticky fingers, Toshiro turns and enters the attached bathroom to wash his hands in the sink. He doesn’t exactly know what he’s feeling right now. Anger, perhaps? Oh, that’s a given. But Toshiro thinks before he acts, stews in his own thoughts and plans every action out in his head. The words _Naruto’s Godfather_ ring in his mind and he can’t help the twist of unease they inspire. As far as Toshiro is concerned, the man had forfeited the rights that came with that title when he refused to be present in Naruto’s life for almost eleven years.

Maybe if Jiraiya had come last year, when Naruto was still desperate for anyone and anything, then the boy would have accepted Jiraiya with open arms. Now? Toshiro doesn’t feel the slightest shred of sympathy for the man, no matter how well-meaning Jiraiya is. Interim Hokage for _months_ and not once has he approached Naruto. 

_Not exactly painting himself in a good light._

Toshiro dries his hands quickly, relieved that the tacky feeling is gone from his skin. Kakashi is right where he left him, plate now empty and mask perfectly in place. The Copy-Nin eyes him carefully, the weight of his gaze heavy.

He sits back down in the chair. “Naruto has a family now. Friends. If Jiraiya-sama thinks he can enter Naruto’s life with ease, he’ll find that isn’t the case. Not anymore.”

Kakashi sighs heavily, shoulders slouching. He still has dark bags under his eyes and they stand out against the stark paleness of his porcelain skin. “I know.”

For the life of him, Toshiro doesn’t understand why Kakashi looks so downtrodden. So defeated. So — “Why are you empathizing with him?”

Heavily scarred hands clench, new lines of white and pink added after this latest mishap. “Because we’re the same.”

“What, both perverts?”

Kakashi splutters, blood flushing the visible arch of his cheekbones. “Toshiro.”

He bites the inside of his cheek to stop from smiling. “I’m kidding. Kinda. You just sounded so serious. I don’t see how you’re anything like that guy.”

“ _That guy,_ he says,” Kakashi mutters under his breath, like Toshiro isn’t disrespecting one of Konoha’s legendary Sannin. For most, it would be a compliment to be compared to one of those three. (Er, maybe not if you’re being compared to Orochimaru.) “I _am_ serious. Naruto is…. A lot. It’s like watching every mistake I’ve ever made take human form.”

“You couldn’t have cared for him so young,” Never mind that fourteen wasn’t neccessarily seen as young in their line of work. “I’m not blaming you for not taking custody.”

“Don’t.” The lone dark eye squeezes shut, Kakashi’s brow tense and forming lines of stress. “Don’t make excuses for me. I’m no better than Jiraiya. I can’t even look at Naruto some days, and he knows it too.” He lays back, silver locks messy against the propped pillow. The moment hangs on a string. They’re perched on an invisible wire, one Kakashi had strong-armed them both onto. “You seem to be under the impression that I intended on interacting with Naruto on my own.”

The spark of unease in Toshiro’s chest bursts into a full inferno, rushing and roaring in his ears until he can’t hear anything else but _that_ and the thump, thump, thump of his own heartbeat. It’s not — It’s not as if Kakashi and Naruto are related by blood. But family was not always blood, sometimes it was just sweat and tears. Sometimes you chose it. Namikaze Minato and Uzumaki Kushina were the only family Kakashi _had_ after his father’s suicide when he was a young child. He ate, slept, breathed, trained and _existed_ by their sides for more years than he ever did with Sakumo. This didn’t lessen his bond with Sakumo — because the man was still Kakashi’s father, and tumultuous feelings on the matter aside, the man obviously still loved his father. No, forming a deep bond with another was something else entirely.

(The human heart had an infinite capacity for love.)

Kakashi should have felt a kinship to Naruto. Should have felt the need to protect the boy like a cousin, nephew, _younger brother._ Now, Toshiro understood grief. It took basically two decades for him to reach the point he is now, entirely accepting of the person he is.

It’s conflicting to think about, the idea that Kakashi would have let Naruto stay out of his life for however long until his untimely death in the field. (Because it’s obvious that _that_ is how Kakashi expects to go.)

He doesn’t know what to feel. Angry on Naruto’s behalf? On Kakashi’s? Angry at the shinobi system as a whole for fucking up every poor sod who fought for Konoha? Toshiro doesn’t like being angry. He’s so tired of a world filled with hatred. Of violence and dead children or children who grow unloved and unsheltered because idiots in charge don’t understand basic kindness.

These confusing, torrential emotions swirl in his chest until they become an amorphous blob. Impossible to pull apart or distinguish individually. It sits like a rock at the base of his throat and every breath feels like a great, heaving effort. He looks at his hands, limp in his lap.

_I forgot._

Kakashi is not infallible. The amount of times he ends up in the hospital should be proof enough of that. But the man has been placed on a sort of pedastal in Toshiro’s mind, as he’s only ever been exposed to the Copy Nin’s kindness — his self-doubt and self-hatred, his inner pain and capacity for dry, mocking humor, he’s dedication and sincerety.

His desire to do the right thing, even if —

Even if.

_I forgot he was human, too._

Even if he’s always a little late.

Toshiro reaches out and clasps his fingers over those clenched, litchenburg scarred hands, pulls them up without meeting resistance and holds them to his chest. Kakashi’s torso twists slightly to stay with the motion, near-covered features very still and very blank.

“And now?” He asks, “Are you that same man?”

Kakashi’s fingers twitch in his grip, pressed to cloth covered skin hiding a bursting heart.

“Do you regret it?” He pushes, boring into that single open eye with enough intensity to spark a flame. 

Like a great dam has burst, Kakashi’s shoulders sag forward, his head bows low. Both eyes shut, scrunched tight as if he’s in pain. Maybe he is. Not every wound is of the flesh. “No.”

“I think you needed help.” Toshiro exhales, and Kakashi’s hands turn on their own and press flat against his chest. He lets them. If the steady beat of his heart beneath Kakashi’s palms grounds the man, so be it. “A push. We are shinobi, the tools of the village. But we are people too, and people stumble. They get scared of the dark and grow clumsy with pain. They make mistakes.” He pauses, his hands a loose grip on Kakashi’s lithe, deceptively powerful wrists. He feels the barest fluttering pulse through the long-sleeved shirt the man wears. “ _You_ make mistakes, and it’s up to you whether or not you learn from them.”

Weakly, Kakashi lets his dark eyes squint open, “How is it that you always know what to say? Do you practice these speeches?” 

Toshiro huffs a soft laugh, “Only for you.”

Kakashi’s fingers curl slightly against Toshiro’s chest, bunching the thick Medic-Nin uniform. “I’m glad I met him. Even if it hurts.”

“Like pulling baby teeth.”

The silver haired man barks out something that sounds like a laugh, though far too raw. “A little like that, yes. I just… don’t see how I can be forgiven so easily.”

“Because you were alone, too.” All those years spent in ANBU, pulling away from everyone — he’s heard the stories. He’s seen the way Kakashi’s friends look at him when they go out for food or drinks. They watch Kakashi like he’s a bomb. Like he’s a mystery. Like he’s a tower and they can’t figure out where the door is, so they remain peering up and up — Kakashi is like Rapunzel, that’s where this analogy is going. Except he put himself in that tower. He built those walls himself, brick by brick, until he was so encased and so high off the ground he didn’t have to worry about seeing other people. And if he didn’t see other people then he didn’t have to care for them. He didn’t have to hurt again.

Toshiro knows this.

He knows this because Kakashi still visits that damn Memorial Stone for hours. Kakashi stares in silence and solitude and regret, pouring his bleeding, open soul into the ground like he’s desperate for it to mean something. Anything. Hoping the ground might open up beneath him if he stands there long enough.

“You lost _everyone._ Jiraiya still has his sensei and his team — forget Orochimaru — If anything, Jiraiya should have taken responsibility for you, if we’re thinking about this from a Team Hierarchy standpoint. Both you and Naruto sank, and he _left._ ”

“He has a spy ring to run.”

Toshiro tightens his grip on Kakashi’s wrists just slightly, enough to emphasize the seriousness of his words, “Frankly, I don’t give a shit. It’s called visiting. Sending letters. Keeping in touch. Finding a suitable replacement guardian for Naruto instead of throwing him to the wolves. If Jiraiya, _the Legendary Toad Sage,_ is _legally_ his godfather and therefore his _legal_ guardian, I find it highly unlikely he wouldn’t have been able to sway the Council even a little bit to improve Naruto’s living conditions. _That’s why I’m mad.”_ The following exhale is sharp and heavy. Being angry is so exhausting, even if it’s for the right reasons. _Calm down._ “Besides, Naruto has already forgiven _you._ He’s in a much better place now, and the fact that you can tell him about his mother — that you _apologized_ for not telling him sooner — it’s all the incentive he needs.”

“Maa, it’s rare to see you so worked up.” Kakashi’s eye squints and glimmers in a way that tells Toshiro he’s smiling. For real. It sends an overwhelming tsunami of relief through him. “This side of you is pretty interesting, too.”

Huffing a laugh once more, Toshiro shakes his head fondly. “I’m glad one of us thinks so.”

At that moment, he remembers the position they’re in. Leaning back, he shifts his grip on Kakashi’s wrists, letting the man’s hands slide. Kakashi’s fingers drag against Toshiro’s shirt for a half a beat longer than neccessary before he takes the hint and moves his hands back. The motion makes Toshiro’s head feel fuzzy and his ears hot.

Kakashi pulls himself together — straightens his spine from the back-breaking hunch he’d fallen into, lets his shoulders roll comfortably, drops his hands in his lap — and squints his eye once more. This time it edges on the usual aloof, mocking crescent. “I can’t wait to see the other sides you have hidden away.”

* * *

“I received Pakkun first. Truthfully, it happened so long ago I can barely remember signing the contract myself. I just know it was at a very young age. Now, I can’t say that it’ll make much of a difference — but be prepared for it anyway.” Kakashi lectures plainly, hands in pockets.

They’re in the front yard, the sprawling Hatake Compound at the children’s backs as Kakashi stands at the bottom of the steps to their house. The sun has about an hour before it hits the edge of the world, but it’s already turned the sky into spun gold and sherbert. 

All the kids sit quietly — the Hatake kids, Naruto is staying at Sasuke’s tonight — Touma and Haruki fidgeting with barely repressed energy. Asuhi is hovering on the engawa, appearing vaguely torn. She hasn’t decided whether or not she wants to sign the contract with her siblings. The Hatake Clan, during the height of their power, were known for their contract with dogs, their white-silver hair and the white glow that spun from any conductive metal they put their chakra into. They were pack animals. The kind of people who willingly offered their blood to be accepted into one, and therefore received blessings in return. The Hatake and the Dogs of the summoning world had a symbiotic relationship. They worked together, grew together, even died together.

“I’m only going to explain this once, so listen carefully.” Kakashi continues, eyeing the kids without any sign of the usual veneer of disinterest. “You each get one dog. From there, it’s up to you to build your own pack however you see fit. Just like I have my eight nin-dogs, you could all end up with just as many, or more. The Dog Realm is filled with them, and during your training and throughout your years in general, it will be your responsibility to form bonds with nin-dogs you meet while there.”

The kids look on with rapt attention, some of them beginning to shift as excitement increases. None of them move to speak, however. (Kakashi can be pretty vindictive.)

“You’re all lucky that there was a recent litter born, young enough to imprint. I’ll be summoning them here today and it’ll be up to you guys to get to know them and find the pup that suits you. Once you’ve imprinted, you’ll sign the contract in blood. The exchange will lead to changes.” Kakashi taps his mask, where his mouth is. “It’s better to do it younger, when you still have all your baby teeth. Makes it less painful to have a mouth full of fangs grow in. Almost all of you still have baby teeth. Chiasa, your transition might be more painful, or you won’t get teeth enhancements at all.”

Chiasa nods solemnly, her strawberry blonde hair a halo of fire in the beginnings of sunset. “I understand.”

Kakashi clears his throat and shifts, looking bored. “Same goes for the rest of you older ones. Just be wary.” Then his eye shifts into the mocking, crescent moon shape, “Don’t worry if your teeth start falling out. You’ll probably look stupid for a few days, but they grow in fast.” 

A collective groan — most of them had already gotten past the embarrassing _two front teeth_ absence and weren’t looking forward for going through it again, even if only for a few days. Takehiko was currently missing at least four teeth, and Asuhi lost one just the other day to bring her total to two.

Toshiro really doesn’t understand how Konoha’s systems allowed for kids with gaps in their teeth and sore gums to fight on the front lines. Where was the victory in cutting down an enemy with a mouth half-full of baby teeth?

“Your sense of smell, hearing and sight improve pretty drastically. It’ll take some time to get used to. You’ll learn to deal with it, or we’ll buy sensory dampening seals. I don’t think I need to stress the fact that you _never_ wear sensory dampening seals or sprays while in the field. I suppose the only other thing we’ll need to talk about …. are the Pack Instincts. It’s hard to explain, but you’ll feel it once it happens. We’ll train for a bit to help get you under control. Taking on the instincts of a predator isn’t something to take lightly.”

“We’re not gonna be like the Inuzuka, are we?” Touma asks, waving his arms wildly. “I don’t want to be like Kiba, he’s annoying!”

Kakashi rubs the back of his neck. “Not exactly, though there are similarities. The Inuzuka take on more animalistic qualities, hence the eyes and nails, but their teeth usually stop at elongated incisors. Hatake mouths are a little more... _dangerous,_ you could say. That aside, we share the same kind of sensory enhancements — and similar instincts. The biggest difference between our Clans is that the Inuzuka formed a bond with creatures that roamed _this_ realm, and our bonds are forged in blood with creatures from an entirely different one. Inuzuka nin-dogs are not summoning animals.”

“Cool.” Haruki whispers under his breath.

“I guess that’s it for now.” The Copy Nin shrugs, then rubs at his masked nose. “Phew. That was more teaching then I ever want to do. I’ll summon the litter now, so get ready. There’s ten of them to choose from.”

Kojika trembles in her spot, fists shaking up and down in excitement. “Puppy, puppy!” 

Kakashi bites his thumb through his mask and slams his palm down on the grass before him. A plume of thick smoke bursts from the point of impact, along with a faint popping sound. It’s shortly followed by many excited yips, too high-pitched to be considered barks.

When the smoke clears in the next second, it reveals a pile of ten puppies, five with fur as white as snow, four a similar shade of tan, and one a reddish color. All possess tails that curl. They were positively adorable with all their puppy fluff and miniature limbs.

“It’s a litter of _Kishu Inu,”_ Kakashi says, though it’s likely not heard over the squeals all the kids let out. The puppies are ungraceful and adorable, stumbling over each other and their own legs. Within seconds the two groups have collided and it’s so eye-searingly cute that Toshiro has to go back inside to nab a camera.

He ends up taking at least fifty pictures.

“Is there anything special about the Kishu Inu?” He asks Kakashi, when the sun is almost slipping completely down and they’ve turned the front lights on to illuminate the yard a little. The bonding session between the kids and puppies continues. Even Asuhi joined, giving in to the cute little dogs. As a Hatake she had a right to the contract, shinobi or not. Couldn’t go wrong with a dog anyway, right?

“Hm,” The man doesn’t glance up from where he’s seated himself casually on the engawa, Icha Icha book in hand. “It’s a good pick. They’re known for loyalty and endurance. Stealth-oriented hunting dogs. Perfect for a shinobi.”

“Stealthy, huh?” Five of the puppies are almost _blindingly_ white.

Kakashi just hums. “Mmhm.” 

“How long does this usually take?”

“However long it has to, I guess. Like I mentioned, I don’t exactly remember my own initiation.” A page is turned, “But if you know, you know. So I doubt it’ll be _too_ long.”

“Hm.” Toshiro looks down at the children and puppies with soft eyes, heart warm at the side. In the warm night air, with the sound of laughter and happiness all around him — Kakashi at his side — he feels whole. “Hey, look — I think Sai is _smiling!”_

* * *

Sai, Gin, Touma and Takehiko end up with puppies with snowy fur. Chiasa, Kojika and Haruki all match with the little puppies that Kakashi called _sesame,_ which was a funny way of saying they had some shade of tan fur with black tipped hairs. Asuhi, as if by fate, ends up with the one puppy with russet, borderline burnt orange fur. The _red_ one.

(She is Hatake, but she is also _Uzumaki,_ and that will always show in her blood no matter which path she takes.)

They can’t take the puppies to school, there’s too many and they aren’t properly trained for the public yet. But the eight puppies chosen stay at the house, watched by Kakashi’s nin-dogs. They won’t return to the Dog Realm for many months, not until the bond between each dog and child is fully formed. Hopefully around month two they _will_ be able to attend school with the kids. Sage knows poor Pakkun will be exhausted by the time that comes.

* * *

“Haven’t seen you around recently.” He takes a sip of his tea, a hearty chai. It’s delicious, but doesn’t beat his all-time favorite flavor: _mint._

Inoka sighs and twirls a strand of her long blond hair, “Got pretty busy. We both did.” She shrugs her shoulder. The left one. _Huh, no shit._

He takes another sip. “I hope you’re taking advatage of those handy seals.” The ones that altered hair color, preferably.

“Who do you think I am?” she snorts, “Hatake?”

Laughing, he puts his tea cup on the table before he spills it. “Fair. I suppose it’s rather redundant considering our line of work, but be careful.”

“It’ll be fine.” Inoka grins, and it looks oddly familiar. “I know some hot-shot Medic-Nin who can patch me up if things get hairy.”

Toshiro squints at her, “Have you been hanging out with Shisui?”

Inoka takes a long sip of her tea. Jasmine. Her eyes flash at him mischieviously over the rim of her cup.

“ _No,_ ” he gasps, “Who approved that?”

 _Shisui?_ In _ANBU?_ The man was about as subtle as a brick — but a good shinobi, no doubt. Powerful, too. One of the best of their generation. His exuberance did a lot to draw attention away from how dangerous and ruthless he could be. (He holds the name _Shunshin no Shisui_ for a reason, and it’s in the Bingo Book for the same one.) Mission-Shisui was likely drastically different from Home-Shisui. Toshiro knew how that was. 

After all, he projects kindness and is rarely seen without a smile — but holds no compunction about slitting a man’s throat, stuffing himself under dead bodies to hide, or using the corpses of enemies to throw a tracker off his scent. You learn to be cruel during war. You learn to be smart.

Then you come home and turn into the version of yourself you want to be. The one who doesn’t spill entrails with the flick of a kunai or form a bubble of water around an enemy to drown them in silence.

“Lotta space to fill in the boots your man left behind.” Is what she says, casual and nonchalant. It’s said with such normalcy that he almost doesn’t notice the wording. 

But he does.

And Inoka is anything but stupid.

“He’s not my man.” He manages to say, putting his hands in his lap to hide the subtle tremble. _Don’t show anything. Don’t show anything._

“I don’t care about that, Toshiro.” 

He looks up at her, heart in his throat. He hadn’t even realized he’d looked down and away to begin with. “What?”

No one is listening to their conversation. No one is even _close by._ That doesn’t stop the paranoia he feels — they’re in a ninja village, spying was what they did _best,_ right next to murder. 

She fiddles with her cup a bit, the only sign of nerves she will ever show. “That fact that he’s a...he. You know most shinobi don’t, especially the younger generations. Don’t be nervous just ‘cause I’m in a clan. I promise I don’t share the same stuffy views of the old coots that whine in Inoichi-sama’s ear all day.”

Clan Elders weren’t known to be particularly progressive, no matter _where_ they came from.

“Okay.” He says, finding his voice. “Okay. He’s still not my man.”

Inoka squints, disbelief curling over her pretty features. “Oh, dear. You’re serious.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Anxiety pulses in his gut. Has he been too obvious in his affections? Granted, this is the first crush he’s had his entire second life, so he might be a little rusty at the _pine from a distance_ thing. “Have people been noticing that I—”

“Not really. Well, I say _not really…._ uh, sorta? Maybe. Or at least the Yamanaka know, er, assume? We all assume you’re….together. It’s why no Yamanaka admirers have confessed their undying love to you lately. They’re just moping and stewing in their heartache, cursing Hatake — the usual unrequited deal.”

Toshiro’s mouth feels dry. He can feel his own heart beating in his chest. There’s a faint ringing in his ears. _An entire Clan._ It’s been...weeks since a Yamanaka stuttered through a confession. They’ve probably known for _weeks_ that he’s —

That he’s gay.

And they acted completely normal about it. As if nothing had changed. (Because nothing had, Toshiro was still the same.)

He relaxes and picks up his tea once more. The chai is almost calming as it bursts across his tongue. “I see.”

“Like I said,” Inoka’s pupil-less azure eyes meet his dazed pink, “No one cares. You’re still Aikawa Toshiro-sensei to us all.”

His lips quirk up, “Even the Clan Elders?”

Inoka’s face immediately shifts into a scowl, her nose wrinkling like she smells something particularly distastedul. “No one gives a shit about what they think. They’re this close to kickin’ the bucket and I’m not gonna cry about it.”

“Shouldn’t speak ill of the almost dead, Inoka.” He teases.

She waves an errant hand, “Then they shouldn’t have spoken ill so much while more alive. Forget about those assholes though, tell me about the puppies!”

Toshiro chuckles, brushing a loose strand of ashy hair behind his ear. “Well, for starters, I’ve never been more exhausted in my life! I don’t know where they get all their energy from, messing around at odd hours of the night—”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly i lost track of everyone's ages so i had to go back and read my own fic  
> toshi: 20  
> kashi: 24  
> itachi: 15 (this is my "hokage at 16 counter" lmao)  
> also Shisui has actually been in ANBU for some time now, but he's actually good at hiding his identity. too bad toshiro can read inoka really well and she wasn't able to keep the secret in her excitement. (not that toshiro would ever betray the info, but he thinks Shisui is a NEW recruit, when really he's been in it for like, over 7 years.)


	14. in the rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALS ARE OVER

Toshiro is a bit like a bull, with Konoha being the china shop. Sometimes it’s all Kakashi can do not to get swept away by the force of it all, to not drown in _him._ Kakashi feels odd. More than usual. It’s as if his actual eye is a sharingan as well. The world is sharp and clear, the colors vivid — most days he actually gets out of bed without having to psych himself up. Not having to deal with the pressing, ugly weight of despair dragging his bones is…

New.

He’s surrounded by energy. By people. There are children who flock to him, who preen under his casual compliments or smile when he ruffles their hair into a mess. There’s dogs. A whole _lot_ of dogs. Silence doesn’t exist in the Hatake Compound. Strangely, he can’t bring himself to care. 

Kakashi never wondered about having a family. He’d convinced himself he never wanted one. The idea of children — his _own flesh and blood_ — was both terrifying and appalling. He’d been content to let the Hatake line die with him, the last of a once fearsome Clan. The dog contract would fade into obscurity, the Alpha of the Realm stealing the scroll back so it never fell into anyone else’s hands. They would work with the Hatake, or no one at all.

Now there’s eight new Hatake children. Brimming with hope and pushing to reach for the light, to grow from the roots that had tried to choke the life from their little bodies. They’re already better than him in every way, and he’s….

Proud.

Even if he hasn’t really done much.

_You gave them a home. A purpose. A Clan._

Toshiro’s voice echoes in his head, the words smokey and soft. Kakasho thinks he could listen to Toshiro talk all day, and he doesn’t quite know what to make of that thought.

Kakashi once likened Toshiro’s Will of Fire to an inferno, blazing ahead of all the little candle flickers in everyone else’s chest. 

Forget an inferno, Toshiro burns like a star. 

Kakashi has felt lightning in his palms, has expelled fire from his lungs and dug into the earth to shatter bones. He’s a weapon, a commander of the elements, the _man of a thousand jutsu._ Yet inside he’s cold and dark and weakly hovering over the last embers of himself. He wants to soak in the brilliant beams of light Toshiro gives off. Wants to horde it for himself until he burns and swelters. _Wants to swallow the sun if it means standing at Toshiro’s side._

His head gets foggy sometimes, but a different kind of foggy. Not like the haze of depression and guilt he usually blinded himself with. The kind of foggy that has him tracking every one of Toshiro’s movements through the house, following his nose and inhaling the familiar scent of mint and ink and rubbing alcohol. The kind of foggy that has him tearing his nails through his own palms to stop himself from — something. Doing something. He’s filled with a wild sort of desperation that feels ill-suited to his character. It’s embarrassing.

Kakashi has never wanted many things. Not really. He feels old and tired and, most of the time, very bitter — even though he doesn’t show it. Twenty-four and he feels like he’s lived a thousand lifetimes. 

(Like he’s snuffed a thousand lives. These hands of his, they’re dirty.)

Toshiro falls asleep on the couch. He eats five peaches in one sitting then complains that they’re out. He hasn’t gotten rid of that rose printed blanket, even though it’s apparently almost eight years old at this point and one of the corners is stained with ink. Toshiro hums when he does laundry. His skin turns rosy when they train, grows wet with exertion. He tells Kakashi ‘Goodnight’ and ‘Welcome Home’ and many other inane, minor things that are actually pretty big, aren’t they? Otherwise Kakashi wouldn’t be so caught up on them.

Kakashi doesn’t know what he wants. His life is full, bursting to the brim — there’s no time for despair when he’s got so much to handle all at once, all the time. It’s nice.

Feeling needed.

Also terrifying, because he wants none of these kids to end up like him. They can take his name, but never his pain. Through it all, Toshiro is there.

A supernova.

Odd, that such a force of nature would be so kind. Oh, Kakashi knows Toshiro can be angry. Toshiro’s anger does not rage like the ferocious heat within him. No, his anger is the icy, deceptive kind. You don’t notice unless you’re looking for it. It’s like a knife in the back. Serrated steel. _A blade._ Swift and devastating. 

Kakashi doesn’t know what he wants.

But he’s finding that he likes coming home to a full house instead of a bare, silent one. He likes hearing the padding of little feet and paws across the hardwood, knowing something wonderful is growing in the house he’d left for dead. Revitalized, now. Kakashi likes the kids. He likes eating with Toshiro, talking with Toshiro. 

He wants to press close enough to burn. Sometimes the desire is overwhelming and he has to get ahold of himself before doing something stupid. Kakashi has never, _ever_ been a touchy person. Physical contact for him mostly happened during training or fighting for his life. Casual, soft touches of affection were foreign. A landmine. It made his skin crawl, but at least he was getting better. _Apparently much better._

But only when it came to Toshiro.

Because he wants to slot himself within that blistering, endless explosion. Wants to take it for himself. It’s a completely selfish and ridiculous thought. But he rereads the same page in Icha Icha five times before realizing he’s been imagining Toshiro’s name in place of one of the characters. His brain is stalling. Stalling. Stalling.

What would Toshiro sound like, if his legs were spread wide like the woman in the book? If he let Kakashi slot himself between them, let Kakashi bite at his skin; marking, claiming, promising. What would Toshiro look like, face down and cheek pressed to the pillow, one pink eye looking back at him hazily, his hair a wave of washed-out gold spun around his head like a watercolor painting? With Kakashi’s hands on his body, forcing him further into the bed? Neck bared, skin bared —

Kakashi throws his book at the wall.

His skin burns with a heady, violent flush, scorching his insides and exposing his heart for the world. Scarred hands grip at his wiry, spiked locks and pull taut, until his skull aches and the force threatens to tear the hair from his scalp. The pain helps him breathe through the utter mortification that sweeps through him. 

Reading Icha Icha is one thing, it helps him hold people at bay and contains a plot that’s not terrible. (Jiraiya-sama is actually a decent writer, his stories are raunchy and laced with perversion, but the way he writes emotion is masterful.) Having sexual thoughts about his close friend? Kakashi has never, in his entire twenty-four years, gotten distracted by the body and attributes of someone. He’d thrown himself into blood and battle with a suicidal tenacity that left little room for anything else. 

Pushing himself ahead of everyone so quickly had led him to missing out on more than he’d initially realized. Like a normal teenaged experience. His body had still reacted to the flush of testosterone and puberty hormones of course, leaving him with embarrassing dreams and adrenaline-boners. But that was it.

Never had it been brought about by a person.

For awhile he didn’t think he….worked like that. People could be attractive, sure, but maybe the whole romance thing just wasn’t for him. There was no _want_ for people. Sexually. Emotionally. He didn’t see the need to touch or be touched. _Because there’s no way he deserved it._

 _What a mess._ He channels his inner Nara. No one taught him how to deal with this. 

* * *

Toshiro slumps on the couch, tipping to the side with little grace. A seventeen hour shift at the hospital after a bad night’s sleep has left him exhausted, a tension headache blooming behind his drooping gaze. As much as he adores the kids and wants to give them a normal childhood, he’s relieved that they’re all incredibly self-sufficient. It makes it a little easier for their overworked guardians to...well, _work._

They’re almost all out of the house now, likely hanging out with their friends or somewhere in the compound with their pup. Toshiro can only sense one person in the house, and that’s Sai. It’s not unusual, the boy has moments where he needs some time to himself. 

His cheek presses into the arm of the couch and he shuts his eyes, blinking for only a moment — 

He wakes.

There’s a blanket on his body, his favorite rose printed one. There’s a tuft of hair under his nose and a weight against his chest. Toshiro blinks, wondering when he got so comfortable here that being joined by a napping buddy didn’t wake him. Bleary pink eyes peer down, noting the inky black hair and flashes of pale skin. 

Sai breathes softly, tucked against Toshiro, half on him and half hanging off the edge of the couch. His white puppy — named _Kenshin,_ if Toshiro wasn’t mistaken — is curled awkwardly by Toshiro’s knees. 

“You were asleep for awhile.” Sai whispers.

Toshiro brushes a hand over his tired eyes, “Sorry. What time is it?”

The shadows have elongated since his return, the sun low in the sky. The house remains quiet despite the obvious passage of time. 

“Almost six. Ino told me that talking about your problems is the key to overcoming them.”

He blinks, looking down at the boy pressed to his chest, little fist curled in his rumpled shirt. Sai doesn’t make any attempt to look up, mouth level with Toshiro’s thumping heart.

“That’s probably the healthy thing to do.” He replies slowly, “It’s certainly helpful for most. It’s hard to grow if you don’t openly acknowledge that you have a problem to begin with.” That was a problem most shinobi had. They refused to admit there was anything wrong even when they were hanging on by a single thread.

There’s one long, quiet moment in which Toshiro feels Sai inhale deeply, “I named Kenshin after my brother.”

The puppy snuffles against the back of Toshiro’s knees. 

“His name was Shin. He died for me, in Root.”

Toshiro exhales, forehead creased with tension. Why did Danzo continue to haunt them all? There were quite a few choice words about the man floating around in his head, none of them appropriate for the current company. Sage, how could they have let that man get away with this for so long? _How could Sandaime-sama let this happen?_

“He was older than me, with hair the color of Kakashi-san’s, but... _bluer.”_ Once the words start, they seem to rush out like pus from a wound. “Eyes as dark as mine. We weren’t related by blood, but sometimes I pretended we were because of that. He was the only person I ever loved, before I knew what love was.”

Toshiro raises a hand and presses it gently to the back of Sai’s head, carding his fingers through silky black locks. Whatever manner of comfort he can give the boy — he’ll do it in a heartbeat. “I’m sorry.”

There isn’t much else he can offer. He _was_ sorry. Toshiro wasn’t going to prod, so unless Sai revealed it on his own there was no telling how long ago Shin had...died. It didn’t stop the surge of guilt at the thought that perhaps if Danzo had been exposed _sooner_ there would be nine Hatake kids instead of eight. Possibly more.

“It’s okay.” Sai finally pulls away a little, and Toshiro’s eyes widen upon seeing the faintest smile on the boy’s pale lips. “I don’t know what dead people feel, but I think he would be happy right now. I’m with you, and I have an older sister and six younger siblings. I have Naruto and Ino. I miss Shin. It hurts in my chest and I don’t know how to explain it. I don’t know a lot of things. But I do know that you’re allowed to have more than one big brother.” Pale fingers curl tighter around the bunch of fabric in his grip, face still bearing very little expression but his words genuine, “So I think it’s okay now…. To call you _Toshiro-nii_ and _Kakashi-nii.”_

Toshiro feels his expression soften even further, hands pressing Sai close to his chest for a tight hug that the boy doesn’t even try to squirm out of. “I’d like that very much.”

They sit quietly for a moment. Content. The soft, failing rays of a setting sun warm against their skin. It’ll snow soon, the weather cooling significantly as the season changes from fall to winter.

“Two of my back teeth fell out today.” The boy suddenly informs, “I think we should have ice cream. I heard the temperature has soothing effects on sore mouths.”

Toshiro huffs a laugh, “Sure, why not.”

* * *

Konoha is vastly different from the village it had been just a few short years ago. The hospital is flourishing, the orphanages almost complete — and Sai had been bringing Aburame Shino around lately, which was great for the boy and for clan relations — Kakashi complained about Council Meetings yet still went diligently to each one, and Inoichi had begun mentioning the implementing of mandatory therapy. Toshiro had lit a spark and now it was up to others to fan the flames. Damn it all if he wasn’t _proud._

“Auntie! I don’t like broccoli!” Touma whines, watching in dismay as Yukimura-sensei plops a helping of the green vegetable on his plate.

She smiles in bemusement, “Strong ninja need plenty of vegetables in their diet.”

Family dinners. 

_What a weird thought._ Toshiro thinks, even though it isn’t anymore. The awkward _am-I-allowed-to-have-it_ joy he’d felt in his chest when they’d first started this has shifted into a comfortable, familiar softness. 

Their kitchen table is heavy with food, all made by Yukimura-sensei since both Toshiro and Kakashi remained relatively hopeless when it came to cooking. It wasn’t often they were all free, and therefore moments like this held a special place in Toshiro’s heart. The kids were sitting at the table, at the island, by the couch — spread around the open area, talking and laughing and being _kids._ Dogs tumbled underfoot and play-wrestled, stealing bites of food from plates.

“Auntie! Auntie! You have to make the takoyaki again!” Haruki exclaims, cheeks puffed with the very food he favors, “Next time!”

She gently slides him a napkin, “Of course, Haruki-kun. I’m glad you all enjoy my cooking.”

Kakashi presses his shoulder against Toshiro’s, chin dipping and voice barely a whisper, “Is there no way we can get her to move in here?”

He sends the silver-haired menace an amused glance, “No, she’s needed at the hospital. We don’t need a live-in cook.”

Kakashi’s dark eye flickers around from the content kids to the mountain of well-cooked wood. He turns back to Toshiro, “Are you absolutely sure?”

“Yes,” With a roll of his eyes, Toshiro hides a smile behind a mouthful of tempura. Kakashi squints hatefully at the fried food. “I’ll figure out how to cook if you’re so desperate for home cooked meals.”

“Tempting.” Kakashi lets out a put-upon sigh, “But you have too much on your plate.” Then he smiles with his eye, scratching at his masked cheek with one pale, scarred finger. “Still, a home cooked meal from you would certainly be interesting.”

Toshiro flushes and turns back to his food.

* * *

“How do you breathe with those on?” 

The moon is bright and near-full in the sky, scattered stars glimmering faintly against a backdrop of deep black and indigo. Soft sounds of the night trickle in through a cracked window. Kakashi’s room is relatively bare, just a bed perpendicular to the window, a nightstand shoved next to it and a dresser against the opposite wall. There’s a framed photo of his old genin team atop the well-aged wood, Yondaime-sama’s smile bright even in the dimness of the bedroom. There’s nothing lining the walls, no personal touches — just a well organized closet and an assortment of books and scrolls stuffed into a bookcase beside the dresser. 

Fitting. A little sad, but fitting.

The house is quiet once more, the kids spread out among various compounds for sleepovers. The Hatake kids are always so eager to spend time with their friends, no matter the difficulty some of them have when expressing happiness. It’s a freedom they know not to take for granted, keeping friends. 

Kakashi looks up from where he’s lounging on his bed, lazily flicking through the pages of an Icha Icha book. Which one, Toshiro isn’t sure. He’s never read them and doesn’t really have any desire to. (Part of it is probably just his annoyance at the author.)

“Hmm...with my lungs.”

Toshiro puckers his lips at the blithe answer, the soft yet sturdy material of one of Kakashi’s masks hanging from his fingers. “You’re hilarious. Really, is it seals? How haven’t you broken out with some _serious_ acne?”

“Good genes.”

This time he scoffs a laugh and raises a brow, “Yes, rub it in why don’t you.” He pauses, peering back down at the fabric. “Is it seals? A super elaborate genjutsu?”

“Seals,” Kakashi relents, “For scent blocking. The fabric itself is extremely breathable.”

“Hmm…” He’s yet to ask Kakashi exactly why he’s so insistent on wearing the mask — two, in fact — but isn’t quite sure he really should. Or wants to. Does it matter, really? That’s a callous thought, Kakashi’s reasons could be really serious or trauma related. Still, it wasn’t any of Toshiro’s business, not until Kakashi allowed it to be so. 

(Remaining masked wasn’t really a problem, anyway. The man could do whatever he wanted if it made him comfortable.)

It’s just….

Sometimes.

Sometimes Toshiro wishes Kakashi would wear it a little less. At least around him. It’s an embarrassing thought, one that makes his cheeks flush crimson and his lips press tight together. It’s not even that Kakashi is _attractive,_ even though the man clearly is, unfairly so, it’s that dropping the mask around Toshiro is a sign of extreme trust. One that very, very few people have experienced. Most of them now dead. Toshiro isn’t even sure _Gai_ has seen Kakashi’s face, or at least not in its entirety. It’s a sobering thought, because Gai is Kakashi’s best friend, no matter what the man said, and what exactly did that make Toshiro?

Just another thought to make him blush. He’s really getting ahead of himself here, with these assumptions. Toshiro, no matter how easily he pastes on a smile or projects kindness, has never been particularly good at understanding the depths of emotional love. He feels it, sure. _Drowns in it._ But love comes in many different shapes and — well, he loves Kakashi. _Of course he does._ The man is one of his closest friends. He also _likes_ Kakashi, in ….every sense. Romantically. Emotionally. Sexually. Maybe he isn’t quite at _love_ just yet, but it grows closer to that precipice every day. 

Or maybe it’s more like he sinks a little deeper each day. Stuck in quicksand up to his thighs and descending slowly, steadily, down and down until he’s entirely submerged. Some days the sand around him is soft and warm, washing across his skin like a caress. Other days it’s itchy and annoying, like going to the beach and getting sand down your swim trunks or in your socks. It’s wild and refreshing and — all Kakashi.

Every bit of it. 

Every uncomfortable, painful part. Every soft, quiet moment.

Kakashi is a livewire, electricity thrums in his veins. He’s difficult and hard to understand because he doesn’t _want_ people to understand. He smiles with his eyes and not with his mouth, and usually you’d think the eyes were what mattered but that wasn’t the case with him. Lies were just as easy to tell with his gaze as they were with his tongue. 

Toshiro wants to know what the other man is feeling, wants to know if he can fit himself somewhere in that iron castle Kakashi has erected around himself. _Is there space for me in your chest? To be nestled beside that broken, bleeding heart of yours?_

It’s okay if there isn’t any. The friendship they’ve wandered into is something Toshiro would not destroy for the world. (He’s moved on from love before, he can do it again and still be happy with the bits of Kakashi he’s allowed to have.)

That doesn’t stop him from hoping. Quietly and in the dark of night when he’s alone and it’s just him, the moon and his face pressed to the pillow. 

He slips the mask over his head, pulling a few stray hairs out from under the fabric when he settles it around his neck. Carefully, he pulls it up and over his nose, the fabric cool and just as breathable as Kakashi had stated. 

It smells overwhelmingly of Kakashi. Enough that Toshiro’s heart stutters severely in his chest, almost uncomfortable in nature. He presses his hands faintly to his face, wondering if the heat on his cheeks is visible over the brim of the mask. “What do you think, can I pull it off?”

Kakashi’s dark eye is piercing. Under the intensity of the moon, his hair glows the way his chakra does, bright and hard to look directly at. The Icha Icha book hangs loosely from his fingers. The silence feels supercharged. Toshiro wishes the other man was showing his face.

“No.”

Toshiro frowns under the fabric, not sure if he should be offended or not. The tone Kakashi had used wasn’t particularly rude, so… “What? Is it the hair? Mask and bun combo not doing it for you?”

Kakashi flickers his gaze away. “I just think it’s a shame to hide those ridiculous freckles of yours.”

“Funny,” Toshiro replies dryly. He moves over to Kakashi’s bed, plopping beside the man with familiar ease. “Some people prefer that, actually.” More traditional families, civilian or shinobi, saw freckles as unattractive. It was some stigma from japanese culture that somehow carried over into this world. (Which was still a bit odd to think about. The whole world spoke japanese?)

“Hn, well,” Kakashi taps his book lightly against his chin, in a classic thinking pose. “I suppose the world does need a few idiots.”

“Are you saying you like my freckles?” Toshiro can’t help but tease, fluttering his eyelashes. Kakashi coughs and pulls the mask from Toshiro’s face, letting the fabric pool around his throat. Scarred, svelte fingers brush his neck carelessly while doing so, and Toshiro feels a jolt of mortified terror at Kakashi discovering the rapid pulsing in his veins. 

“There’s nothing wrong with them. It’s an endearing quality to have.” 

Toshiro reaches out. Kakashi lets him.

He pulls down Kakashi’s mask. 

“You’re going to embarrass me with those kinds of comments.” He manages to jest. He still feels the soft press of fabric against his face. The brush of Kakashi’s mask against his lips when he’d spoken. 

_Forget that._

Shuffling, Toshiro flops down on the bed next to Kakashi and buries his face in the other man’s pillow. It smells just as overwhelmingly like Kakashi as his mask does. Like steel and sandalwood. Heavy ozone and faint traces of dog. For a brief moment Toshiro has the mental image of standing in the middle of a summer thunderstorm. 

“A flustered Toshiro is one I rarely get to see.” Kakashi comments idly, not protesting the medic’s movements. His bed isn’t very large, just a bit larger than a twin bed in width. They fit side by side like puzzle pieces, limbs brushing and pressing without comment. It’s a little different from how they usually enjoy each other’s company, because Kakashi isn’t a touchy person and Toshiro rarely pushes his boundaries. 

Tonight, however, Toshiro is feeling a little bold.

A little wanting.

Kakashi would tell him to _stop_ if need be. Maybe not with his words, but definitely with his body. Toshiro is pretty fluent in Kakashi-speak now, so he knows when the man reaches his touch limit. He’ll pull away in a second.

Always running a little hot, Kakashi is a beacon of warmth that Toshiro mindlessly presses close to, until his nose is brushing the man’s arm. At any moment, Kakashi will tense. His arm muscles with jump or his chakra will waver or —

He waits, taking what he can get. Tactile comfort is a guilty pleasure of Toshiro’s. Growing up an orphan in Konoha _really_ meant you ended up touch-starved. He’s sworn the Hatake kids will get as many hugs and hair-ruffles as they desire, because they deserve it. They deserve to feel loved and be able to express that love. 

A little more.

Just a bit more.

He’s still waiting.

…

He falls asleep.

* * *

Kakashi wakes up with his unmasked face pressed into the back of Toshiro’s neck. Their legs are tangled together, the shorter man’s back pressed to Kakashi’s chest and one of Kakashi’s arms is heavy over Toshiro’s waist. An ache in his chest and mouth prompts him to slip his lips open just a tad.

And he breathes.

His entire body feels like it trembles at the overwhelming burst of mint and paper, the night’s clean sleep-sweat and _Kakashi._

Toshiro smells like Kakashi. Their scents swirl together until his nose can't distinguish the two. He doesn’t know where Toshiro begins or Kakashi ends. There is a burning, pressing, _insistent_ desire to put his teeth into the soft flesh before him. To mark the sensitive skin of Toshiro’s vulnerable neck. Kakashi doesn’t think he can move.

His whole body feels frozen, yet he shakes with a severe sort of tension and desperation. It feels odd and weird but not completely foreign, even though he’s never felt something like it before. 

_Instinct._

_My instincts are humming._

The day dreams from a while ago hit him once again with full force. He could roll over on top of Toshiro right now. Pin him down and press their bodies together until the younger man cried for it. _Screamed for it._ Like the people in Jiraiya’s books. So many flowery, raunchy words to describe an act of passion and pleasure. The emotion and feel of the whole scene — every breathy moan, shuddering gasp and delicious bolt of ardor — he remembers it all.

 _I can make you feel like that._ He thinks, a fleeting thought that sends utter mortification surging through him. _No, no. I want Toshiro to be happy. To feel good._

A shift of Toshiro’s slumbering form, his ashy hair half-spilling out of his bun. 

_There are many ways to do that._

As a friend. Even if Kakashi was bad at social cues or figuring out the feelings of those around him, he knew it wasn’t very platonic to think the things he did about Toshiro. It makes him sick to his stomach — not the….gay thing. Kakashi could care less about the fact that he was attracted to a man, and if the Council ever finds out about his fluid preferences they can fuck right off. It’s the influx of emotions and the awful realization that he _doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing_ that’s making him sick. 

Is it normal to feel so lost in yourself but yet found? Pressed against Toshiro like this, sharing body heat and scents, it feels a lot like home. 

* * *

“In less than a year, Itachi will be Hokage.” Shisui says the words out loud like he still can’t believe them, even though it’s been well over a year since the decision. As the day looms closer, it brings with it a brand new tsunami of change.

“He’s pretty hard at work already,” Toshiro comments absently, finishing up a few medical reports at his desk. Shisui decided to pick him up after his shift, only to find Toshiro still chugging away.

“Right, the education reforms.” The Uchiha sighs, “It just seems so crazy. Like it’s too good to be true.”

“Hn.”

Shisui squints, “You know, maybe you _have_ been spending too much time with the Uchiha. My stuffy relatives are starting to rub off on you. Better not tell Fugaku-sama, I’m pretty sure he’s about ready to let you have your pick of anyone in the clan just to solidify a marriage contract.”

Toshiro accidentally draws a sharp line through his kanji in surprise. “What, he’s still on that? I thought he was done!”

The curly-haired Uchiha just shrugs, sharp smile betraying his endless amusement at Toshiro’s plight, “Say, if I wasn’t completely and utterly devoted to Hoshi-chan, would you choose me for a marriage contract?”

“As if,” Toshiro scoffs, almost unable to help from laughing, “I do have _some_ standards.”

“I thought I fit them pretty well, though.” Shisui mutters, pouting but not looking very put out at all. “Tall, male, face scars, one sharingan.”

This time ink splatters across the whole page, and Toshiro stares in dismay down at his near-complete form, now completely ruined. A steady, burning flush blossoms across his freckled cheekbones and he gapes at his friend indignantly. “ _Shisui!”_

“What!” The man replies in the same tone, “I still have one eye, I’m not _blind.”_

At least it was obvious that Shisui cared little for the whole sexuality debacle. That didn’t make the situation any less embarrassing, even as the last stirrings of anxiety faded away in the face of Shisui’s easy-going nature. 

Toshiro groans and puts his head down on his desk, not even caring about the threat of fresh ink. “Ugh, please tell me it’s not as obvious as you’re making it out to be.”

“Well….” Shisui drawls out, smiling sheepishly, “I did say Fugaku-sama was willing to let you pick _anyone.”_


	15. springtime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> p h e w,,, i was so exhausted the previous chapter dudes. i stayed up all night and posted it at 6am while half-asleep, i couldnt even write anything in the notes except that comment about my finals lol. i'm glad u all seemed to enjoy THE GREAT THIRST !!!

The thing is, everyone  _ knows _ that the Hokage is stepping down. Jiraiya has been the interim Hokage for quite a while now, and Hiruzen has made no attempt to hide the fact that he’s retiring. It’s not a surprise; he’d already pushed well past the term he initially wanted. Minato’s death had been an unforeseen misfortune that ended with him back in the seat he thought he’d finally been freed from. Therefore, him announcing that he was stepping down was acceptable — in that it was  _ expected. _ What the public did  _ not _ know was who would be the Godaime Hokage. Itachi’s promotion was not public knowledge, the Council decided it best not to put a target on the boy’s head before he came of age and took the seat. There was speculation, of course, and even some who thought that Jiraiya would eventually just take the seat. 

Itachi being the future Hokage was  _ need-to-know. _ Which, of course, meant that basically every Uchiha, Yamanaka, Nara, Akimichi and Hatake knew about it. (Toshiro and Naruto as well, obviously.) Other shinobi likely had some idea, but the civilians were clueless. 

Toshiro felt kinda bad for the kid, despite being incredibly proud. Even if Itachi was younger by five years, they were still  _ friends. _ The Uchiha was far too...worldly to be considered a younger brother. Besides, the title of  _ older brother _ fit Itachi far too well. 

So, friends it was. 

Toshiro flicks a thumb over a cherry red earring, a faint smile on his lips. It’s been a few years now and he still wears them religiously. The memory of the day he first got them is still fresh in his mind. That little thirteen year old has grown up so much already. In around two months he’d be sixteen —  _ Hokage. _

Just last week, the new Academy year had started. Chiasa is now in her final year — it’s a bit scary to think that around this time next year she’ll be a genin (because he has no doubt that she’ll pass) and off doing missions. 

Itachi will be the one to make team placements, too. 

Maybe Toshiro will ask what kind of — no, maybe he shouldn’t. It wouldn’t do to overstep his boundaries. Not with this subject. They’re friends, but team placements are Hokage business, meaning it’s information that Toshiro isn’t privy to. 

Still.

Privately, Toshiro just...wonders. What kind of future Itachi wants to bring to fruition. Creating teams is a heavier burden than one might think. Children are placed together for a reason, even if it doesn’t look like it. There’s no randomness about it. When he’d been placed on his own team — so, so long ago, he barely remembers them now, had only had them for three weeks — they were chosen for trapping and support. 

From the quiet, infrequent stories about Kakashi’s teammates,  _ his _ team — Team Seven — was selected for frontline sabotage. 

It put a lot of pressure on Itachi to find the best placement for students that would create both cohesive teams and high success rates. The goal is, after all, to cut down on loss of children.  _ Twelve  _ is, in Konoha’s eyes, a perfectly fine age to be a genin. Which Toshiro can’t even fault them for because the previous graduation age had been  _ eight. _ There is only so much Toshiro can get away with saying before he becomes obnoxious, even if his ideals are logical to his mind. 

_ This world is different. _ That means it can’t  _ all _ go Toshiro’s way. There has to be a compromise between the ideals of the shinobi world and the ideals Toshiro holds. Frankly, the fact that he’s gotten this far and has people who will support him is amazing all on it’s own. 

“How’s the prosthetic working for you?” Toshiro inquires, sitting peacefully in  _ seiza _ at the low table in the Uchiha’s living room. 

Fugaku sits with his legs crossed, unable to hold  _ seiza _ with his leg the way it is but looking no less regal. “Quite well, Sensei.”

The edge of his lip curls into a partial smile, “Better than the last one, huh.” He’s gotten pretty fluent at  _ Uchiha Speak. _ It felt like they spoke an entirely different language based on miniscule expressions and subtle undertones. 

Fugaku sends him a faintly amused glance. “It works.”

He’s here because Uchiha Mikoto wants to get to know Naruto. If there was one woman that could scare him into submission the way only a mother could, it would be her. Not that she wanted to scare him, or had even tried. No, she put all that anger into a pretty smile and calm facade — then very bluntly told him that the Sandaime could suck an egg.

Ok, she hadn’t quite said  _ that. _ But the message was basically the same. The Uchiha were especially told to stay away from Naruto after his birth, only out of fear for what the sharingan could do with the kyuubi. There had been a lot of speculation that a sharingan user had been the one to set the kyuubi loose in the first place — but no evidence. 

And even if people didn’t know that Naruto was the son of the previous Jinchuuriki, Toshiro did. 

Mikoto did.

Mikoto who was apparently close friends with Uzumaki Kushina, enough to adore Naruto without ever being able to meet him due to the village’s prejudice and the Sandaime’s law.

Close enough to take an immediate liking to Asuhi and have a hand in her education, out of duty to the Uzumaki Clan — or perhaps just a duty born of love. Mikoto didn’t talk about it. She only spoke of Kushina fondly, with a faint smile and nostalgic eyes. (She was a shinobi, and shinobi  _ died.  _ Kushina  _ died. _ ) 

She didn’t talk about it.

But Toshiro knew.

Because he thinks about Shisui or Hoshika dying and it makes something in his gut shrivel and sour, until he thinks he might vomit. So he doesn’t care if it’s treasonous, and neither does she. He brings Naruto with him.

They’re in another room now, unable to be heard. Neither Toshiro or Fugaku are interested in eavesdropping. It’s not their place. They talk about progress, about Itachi. About Sasuke. 

“Heard he’s having a bit of trouble.” 

Fugaku sighs, chin tilting down  _ just so, _ enough to give the impression that he’s shaking his head even though he isn’t. “He’s doing well, as expected.” Dark eyes flicker to him, “Competing for top student with your two boys.”

Toshiro nods. “Gin and Sai don’t pull punches.” Kojika is in the same class, but like Toshiro, her talents are more of the mind than the body. She prefers gardening and medicine to taijutsu, and has no interest in the rivalry the boys have started. (Even if Sai doesn’t realize he’s competing at all, the poor, socially awkward child.)

The Uchiha grunts, “Hn. It’s good for him.”

“What’s the problem, then?”

Fugaku reaches for the kettle before them, swiftly refilling his near-empty cup with practiced movements. The scent of spicy chai is reintroduced to the air. “I wouldn’t say it’s a...problem, in the traditional sense.” The man almost looks  _ awkward,  _ his mouth set in a grumpy frown. “Ino-kun is adept at handling the worst of it. As brazen as she is, her presence is a good influence on Sasuke….”

_ There could be a few possible issues here. Damn Uchiha, _ he thinks fondly,  _ getting anything out of them is like pulling teeth. _

“He has admirers, doesn’t he?”

Fugaku purses his lips. “They’re quite tenacious, I’m told.” There’s a slight narrowing to his gaze that tells Toshiro the man thinks it’s actually  _ funny. _

Well, it kind of is.

“Normally, I wouldn’t care for this type of issue. Sasuke can handle himself, especially with the children he surrounds himself with.” The Uchiha pauses to take a sip of his tea. “Unfortunately, he’s constantly complaining about a single girl who is...part of their little group. To the point where it’s starting to get on my nerves. Enough that I feel as though I should speak to her parents.”

Immediately, Toshiro has an idea of who Fugaku — and therefore, Sasuke — is talking about. “Haruno Sakura-chan, yes?”

Fugaku looks mildly relieved. “Yes. It’s not of….It  _ wasn’t  _ the Uchiha  _ way  _ to form relationships with civilians, or civilian born shinobi. This incident between Haruno-kun and Sasuke has only...exacerbated my understanding of the differences between clan shinobi and civilian shinobi.”

“Can you explain the situation to me?” While Sakura’s crush was obvious, and probably annoying to a soon-to-be eleven year old, it seems like there’s a little  _ more _ to this issue than just that. Fugaku would never bring it up if it was just Sasuke complaining about a girl having a crush on him.

“According to Sasuke, they’ve been having trouble breaking Haruno-kun away from the civilian mindset. She’s unable to keep up with their training, both physically and emotionally, and doesn’t seem inclined to stop her so called  _ dieting _ habits. Nor, according to Ino-kun, does she purchase clothing from the correct shinobi shops.” 

Wow. Fugaku has come a long way from the stoic, angry man he was a few years ago. It’s amazing — he’s basically a full-on family man now. Listening to his youngest complain and actually  _ worrying _ about it. It’s sweet.

“....Not to come across as rude, but this doesn’t seem like the kind of thing you’d usually worry about.” Toshiro finally says, “Though I  _ do _ understand the worry. Did something in particular strike you as odd about the situation?”

Fugaku doesn’t exactly  _ shuffle, _ but he somehow gives off the vibe of shifting, dark eyes darting to the side in heavy contemplation. “The world is far different from what it was before. There is strength in having an ally beside you. If forging connections is what it takes to push us to a future of equality, then so be it. The younger Uchiha children are different from the older, more rigid generation. They are the beacons of hope for a Konoha where we will be accepted as we are. Before the alliances were forged, I thought the children of our clan would end up just the same as their elders. When Sasuke came to me about this, I realized just how far we’ve come.” The man finally focuses on Toshiro, meeting his eyes without hesitation. There is something  _ settled _ in the expression on the Clan Head’s face. “Before, Sasuke would have never acknowledged someone like Haruno-kun. Be it her personality, habits or skill level, she would have bothered him to no end. Now, he feels no anger because of that — not entirely. No, he apparently feels anger because he knows she can be better, and doesn’t know why  _ she _ doesn’t realize it.”

The concept seems to bewilder Fugaku, yet also intrigue him. Seeing growth and change unfurl before your very eyes must be a feat both amazing and daunting. Toshiro hides a smile behind his tea cup.

* * *

Out of all his kids, there is definitely  _ one _ that Toshiro never thought he’d have to worry about when it came to getting in trouble with superiors. Which is why he almost doesn’t believe it when he is pulled aside after showing up at the Academy — just to be told that Chiasa got into a fight. 

_ With a Hyuuga. _

Apparently it happened just moments before he showed up. Mizuki-sensei has a tense smile on his face, and Sasuke is looking at Chiasa like she hangs the moon. The other kids are off to the side, not privy to the conversation but looking just as eager.

“I’m sorry, nii-san.” Is what she says, bowing lowly. 

Toshiro pats her head, “No need for bowing, Chiasa, really. I’m not mad. Just...curious. I didn’t expect you of all the Hatake to get into a fight.”

At this point even  _ Sai _ was more likely, with the odd, goading attitude he was picking up from hanging around Ino.

“There was a skirmish between her and Hyuuga Atsuzumi.” Mizuki-sensei explains, his smile a little tense. As to be expected, he’s dealing with a potential fall out between two clans, after all. 

Toshiro purses his lips, directing his gaze back to Chiasa. “Care to tell me what about?”

It could be any number of things. The fact that she’s been speaking with a lisp as her teeth fall out and fangs grow in, or the fact that she’s  _ adopted _ into a clan and might be seen as  _ lesser _ to those who thought themselves special. (Sage, the Hyuuga  _ especially _ had sticks up their asses about clan business.) 

Or something about the dogs. The kids are very protective of their puppies, and just a few weeks ago had finally been cleared to bring the pups to school with them. It’s not as if anyone could stop them — no one stopped an  _ Inuzuka, _ after all. The Hatake Clan was just as tied to canines. Chiasa’s little seasame colored pup is sitting by her feet, quite well trained already. Her name is  _ Saki, _ the kanji used very cutely meaning:  _ bloom. _

“Hyuuga-kun wa’th in’thulting Itachi-san.” She lisps, face uncannily straight despite the fact that three of her front teeth are missing, fresh new ones poking through her gums in various stages of growth.

Of all the things it could have possibly been, that was the very  _ last _ option his mind could have conjured. Yet it’s also not...surprising. The Hyuuga and Uchiha Clans have never been fond of each other, which was a bit funny seeing as they had been the two with the closest set of rules and regulations — the Hyuuga’s disgusting seal aside. Hyuuga Hiashi had not been pleased when Sandaime-sama declared he wanted Itachi to be the next Hokage. It was very likely the man’s displeasure at the fact leaked over to his clan, heightening the animosity.

While the idea of Chiasa getting into a fight is still...out of character...Itachi is an important part of the dynamic between all the current allied clan quintet. He also fought Danzo toe to toe, contributing to the reason Chiasa and her siblings are  _ free. _

“It’s still not like you to try and solve problems with your fists.” He murmurs with a raised eyebrow, but offers her a smile to let her know he’s not mad. 

“I tried words.” Chiasa replies, then her jaw sets and her gaze shifts to the side, giving her a mullish, disinterested expression that, to Toshiro’s endless amusement, she’s  _ absolutely _ picked up from Kakashi. “When they didn’t work, I pro’theeded to reeducate him in the only manner he th’eemed to understand.”

Toshiro hums, then directs his attention to Mizuki-sensei. “Well, is there some kind of punishment she’ll be facing?”  _ Or backlash from the Hyuuga, _ he doesn’t say.

Mizuki-sensei startles, “Uh, no — well, just a few rounds of detention over the next few days. She’ll be completing some chores with Atsuzumi in order to foster a more positive relationship between the two of them.”

Toshiro winces internally. Based on Chiasa’s stubbornly set jaw, that’s not likely to happen unless this Hyuuga boy apologizes. Knowing the Hyuuga Clan as a whole, that’s not a viable possibility. It does make sense, from an outside standpoint. Konoha shinobi were supposed to view each other as allies, after all. Branches that made up the same tree. 

(Everyone let the  _ clan _ stuff get to their heads, and forgot that the people in the village weren’t supposed to be  _ enemies.) _

“I see. And it starts today?”

“Yes, Hatake-sama.” Mizuki-sensei replies, “About two hours. It’ll run until five for the next four days.”

Toshiro tries very,  _ very _ hard not to react with an explosive blush at being called  _ Hatake-sama. _ Chiasa doesn’t blink, clearly not thinking there’s anything wrong with the title, and that just makes the situation even  _ more _ embarrassing. Clearing his throat, Toshiro offers another smile, this one a little tight, “I understand. Chiasa — do you want me to come back to pick you up at five?”

She shakes her head. “No, I’ll be fine.”

It’s spring, the days decently warm and the sun setting later, so walking home at five would be perfectly safe. She’s also twelve.  _ And Danzo is dead. _

“Alright.” he replies, “Get home safe. Try not to beat up that poor boy again.” 

A smirk that looks to be a shadow of Shisui’s flickers across her mouth for a few brief seconds. “I will try my best.”

He supposes that’s all he can ask for.

Later, Sasuke regales the story with a starstruck eagerness. The other kids had witnessed it themselves, so they’re running around playing while Sasuke stands before a group of adults. Fugaku and Mikoto look faintly amused, Mikoto more open about it and even tittering gracefully behind her hand. Itachi merely blinks, something akin to surprise in the slightly widening state of his dark eyes. Toshiro pretends he doesn’t see how the older boy’s hands seem to shake.

“And then — And then she looked him dead in his dumb byakugan eyes and told him  _ someone with your skill level shouldn’t speak ill of their superiors, do they not teach manners in that clan of yours? _ And he turned soooo red! Like a tomato!” Sasuke mimes a quick, violent punch, “Then she hit him right in his ugly face ‘cause he lunged at her! Like a big jerk! They weren’t even sparring! She was so cool!”

Toshiro exhales sharply in poorly concealed amusement, sharing a glance with Mikoto. How cute.

* * *

Kakashi likes his friends. Even if he doesn’t show it well, if at all. The fact that he doesn’t leave or insult them behind their backs — he insults them to their faces, thank you very much — should be proof enough that he tolerates being around them. It’s just that….he hates going out to bars because he doesn’t feel comfortable pulling down his mask to actually enjoy any food or drinks. It’s always quick, hidden bites behind a genjutsu or during some loud, obnoxious exclamation from one of them that draws away all eyes.

Toshiro likes going, though. So Kakashi has to. 

Well.  _ Has to...is a bit… _

It goes a little like this: Genma sleeps around. He’s a fun, decently handsome guy that makes it clear he’s transparent with lack of feelings towards sex. The man just likes his pleasure and there’s nothing wrong with that. But for some odd reason, Kakashi has registered him as a  _ threat, _ merely because of the  _ possibility  _ of the man propositioning Toshiro. Never mind the fact that Genma hadn’t been sleeping around much as of late, and he and Raidou were tip-toeing around each other like their sexual tension wasn’t  _ palpable. _ There was even a betting pool going around for when one of them would finally snap and do something about it. Because it was  _ serious. _ Genma, if he felt attracted to someone, just went for it. If he was turned down, no big deal. The fact that he didn’t immediately just ask Raidou if he wanted to fuck  _ meant something. _

It wasn’t because they were friends, and had been for  _ years. _ No, Kakashi knows for a fact that almost everyone has slept with someone else here. (Except him.) 

_ Sage, he doesn’t want to think about the time he caught Gai’s scent all over Ebisu. What the fuck  _ —

It is also quite  _ telling, _ the fact that he knows all this. Who else but a friend would? For someone who constantly says he doesn’t have any, Kakashi sure has a lot of friends. Maybe it’s time he finally accepted the fact. They weren’t just comrades, not just allies. Friends.

He watches as Toshiro throws his head back and laughs, pale hair spilling loose over one shoulder, looking free and uninhibited. Not drunk, never drunk. The man doesn’t drink. He sips on fruity drinks until his breath smells like sugar and his tongue is cherry red with artificial dye. It makes Kakashi’s gut  _ burn _ to watch that red,  _ red _ tongue wrap around that dumb little straw, lips pink and puckered.

Kakashi is disgusting. Deplorable. He’s — He’s an honest to god pervert, isn’t he? Reading Icha Icha was one thing, that was  _ funny! _ This is — this is  _ new territory. _ Not only that, but he’s starting to feel a little embarrassed about the fact that out of everyone at the table, he’s the only virgin. Toshiro probably is as well, but Kakashi can’t say for sure and isn’t really confident enough to bring it up in casual conversation without making it weird. 

Not that there’s anything wrong with not having sex, there’s quite a few who just...don’t. Kakashi had assumed himself to be the same, as had the others. He was just...never interested. And it had been obvious. Everyone here saw right through the porn in his hand and into his soul and as grossed out as that sappy thought made him feel — 

He doesn’t know what to do now that the person he was before doesn’t exist. It’s like an entirely new being had possessed his flesh, one that was greedy and burning. Toshiro catches his eye and smiles, and Kakashi manages to curve his eye in response. His skin feels like it’s crawling, like everyone has their eyes on him and they  _ know. _

_ They know. _

Appearance-wise, Kakashi is unflappable. He’s trained too hard and too long for anything else. He’s a  _ shinobi.  _ A retired  _ ANBU Captain. _ No one can see through his carefully crafted facade when he doesn’t want them to. It’s impeccable. 

A heavy hand lands on his shoulder. Kakashi realizes he’s been staring at Toshiro for five minutes, the other man chatting with Aoba about something Kakashi has completely ignored in favor of just  _ watching. _

“Kakashi,” Gai implores, his voice actually at a normal level. His big eyes are bright and watery. “I’m so happy your springtime has blossomed and born fruit.”

Kakashi — reflexively, it was  _ reflexively,  _ he swears — punches Gai so hard the man flies out of the booth. Steam flies out of his ears and he doesn’t look behind him and hopes everyone just assumes it’s another challenge —

Except Anko is wiggling her eyebrows and Raidou’s unimpressed eyes are boring into his head —

“WHAT A HIT!” Gai exclaims, lunging back like a damn springboard. “As expected of my eternal rival, always on your toes!”

Kakashi really, really wanted to go home.

Why did he think having friends was a good idea?

* * *

The new apprentice medic-nin —  _ Kabuto, _ his mind supplies — is a bit of an odd one. He smiles easily and seems rather demure, though exceptionally capable. Toshiro thinks the teen is a bit...silky. Which can be taken two ways. There’s the suave, smooth connotation behind the adjective, and then there’s the snake-in-the-grass, silver tongue kind of  _ silky. _ Which one the boy was is a bit hard to pin down. Either way, he’s not malicious or anything, so Toshiro doesn’t worry about it. It must say something that the biggest reason his mind flagged Kabuto as  _ odd _ is due to the fact that the teen seems way too...adjusted.

Whatever. It’s a shitty thing to be worried about, the fact that someone was too  _ normal. _ So Toshiro puts it out of his mind and focuses on what’s important. 

_ Coming into his role as Hospital Director. _

Itachi’s birthday is approaching rapidly, and that means so does the time for both him and Toshiro to step up. The transfer paperwork on top of the normal paperwork (because rewriting the system of current paperwork and fixing the storage of it all was taking FOREVER) is exhausting.  _ He _ is exhausted. It really makes him think about the distribution of power. Now, if Toshiro knows one thing about the position of Hokage, it’s that whoever it is has to deal with a  _ lot _ of paperwork. Itachi is too young to already have stress lines so deep, and he’s not even Hokage yet. 

How much of that paperwork could be dealt with by other people? What if there were proper systems in place for the regulation of such things? 

“You know, I think Shodaime-sama was an idiot.” He announces quite suddenly at dinner one night. There isn’t any other explanation. This mess is because things were shitty at the start and then never corrected because the successors thrived in the comfort of familiarity, no matter how limiting that was.

Kakashi blinks lazily, “Yeah, probably.”

Toshiro thinks he adores the man.

* * *

Haruno Sakura is...a walking contradiction. She acts tough, her personality forcefully loud and  _ alpha female _ , to use Hatake terms, but is anything but. She reads and enjoys the quiet, can be both patient and impatient, and has periods where she is badgering, annoying, and non-stop talking. 

She’s obsessed with her appearance and any comments made about it, thinks dieting is a  _ thing _ ninja do and takes every step to primp herself. Hair, nails, clothes — not that there’s anything  _ wrong _ with that….

If you’re a civilian. Or using civilian oriented items.. 

For one, shinobi paint their nails all the time. Sturdy varnish is actually normal and expected of everyone to prevent nails from chipping during fights. Whether you get the colored kind is entirely up to you, of course. Toshiro has never really thought about it, always going for the clear varnish. Maybe he can toss it up and get red, to match his earrings — but that’s another thought. 

Sakura buys civilian nail polish. The kind that smells like chemicals and chips with ease. Her nails are long, too long, actually — far too easy to break or be used for torture. (Which is unfortunate but a true reality.) Her hands are too soft and barely calloused. It’s obvious that outside of the academy, she doesn’t train on her own time and her taijutsu scores are barely passable. Academically, she’s amazing. On paper her stats are impressive. But she’s laid out in a fighting setting within seconds. It’s unfortunate, because she has a sharp mind that counts as a clear advantage.

If only she wasn’t so caught up in civilian fantasies.

Second, it’s not odd for shinobi to take pride in or care for their hair. Just look at the Hyuuga and Uchiha! That being said, there are specific brands of hair products intended for shinobi, ones that either don’t give off a scent, or give off one created using only natural resources. It was easier to blend into nature that way. 

Sakura smells like a perfumed cloud of artificial flowers. Overly sweet and powerful to even the common nose — never mind a  _ shinobi. _ It was then infinitely worse for a Hatake or Inuzuka, or anyone who powered chakra to their nose to increase their senses. 

Then there was the  _ dieting. _ Toshiro — outwardly — liked to project that he wasn’t a violent person. It’s probably not as truthful to his character as he’d like it to be, but he’s a shinobi, so what can anyone expect? Sakura’s parents made Toshiro want to beat some sense into them. Objectively, they were good people. Probably. Sakura seemed like a well-loved child, but all her understanding of the world came from them — and they were  _ civilians. _ Her mother instilled upon Sakura the desire to look  _ ladylike _ and search for a husband. The fact that she wanted to be a ninja was probably wildly out of their realm of expectations.

Shinobi couldn’t  _ diet. _ Toshiro already had to talk to Ino about it, the girl getting wrapped up in civilian beauty and ideals after hanging around with a bunch of clanless academy kids. He had some very helpful notes and diagrams about the amount of calories shinobi were required to intake to keep themselves in top form. Using chakra expended a lot of energy, as did the intense training regimens shinobi forced upon their bodies. 

Now, Toshiro didn’t  _ know _ Sakura, not really. They’d barely spoken, even if the pink haired girl hung around the kids pretty often. She acted very respectful and shy around adults, though her temper sometimes got the best of her. In the presence of Sasuke, she seemed to turn into an entirely different person — one that no one seemed to like.

Simpering, meek, desperate. It was a bit embarrassing to watch, and probably unhealthy for a child her age to act so devoted to an almost-eleven year old boy. It wasn’t her  _ true _ personality. What made her think the facade she put on would attract Sasuke’s attention was completely beyond Toshiro and everyone else. 

_ Maybe I should talk to her. _

….

_ Sooner rather than later. _ He thinks to himself, observing the scene before him. The academy has just let out and children fill the Hatake’s yard space, their compound being the chosen spot of the day.

“Quit it, Sakura! You’re being _ annoying.” _ Sasuke snaps, tugging his arm from the girl’s handsy grip. “I don’t want some weak little housewife! If I’m marrying anyone, it’ll be a super strong kunoichi that can fight me!”

It’s probably the loudest tone he’s ever used to speak to her, if the gobsmacked expression on her face says anything.

The boy looms angrily in Sakura’s space, cute little face twisted into a scowl, “You’re not a civilian, so stop  _ acting like it  _ — or get out of the academy!”

Then he storms back to the bulk of the group, some of them observing the scene with expressions that vary between apathy and worry, the others oblivious to the argument. Sakura stands there, hands clasped to her chest and long pink locks falling haphazardly down her back. She looks like a deer caught in headlights, her lip wobbling and eyes growing wet. 

_ Ah, jeez. _

“Hey.” He says.

She startles and looks at him with wide, embarrassed eyes. Her cheeks flush red and she rubs at her wet eyelashes. “O-Oh, Aikawa-sensei, I’m — ”

“Do you really want to be a shinobi?” 

Sakura bites her lip, hands shaking as she drops them to her sides and grips at the loose, pretty fabric of her qipao style dress. “I...I don’t know. I want...to be useful. To help people.”

_ And you don’t need to be a shinobi to do that. _

Toshiro hums. “Think about it a bit more, okay? When you have your answer, come back and tell me.”

She sniffs and clears her throat, “But why?”

“Because there are other ways to be a shinobi, Sakura-chan. We’re all useful in our own way, and we all help the village just by existing. That doesn’t mean every shinobi is the same, and sometimes it’s hard to figure out which path you want to take.” He offers her a grin, “You can be a shinobi who helps people, it’s just up to you to decide  _ how. _ Sasuke’s right in that civilian ideals don’t have much of a place in shinobi education, but try to remember that strength comes in different forms. Find what best suits  _ you, _ not anyone else, and certainly not Sasuke.”

Sakura looks back over to the group, her face pensive and far too stressed for a little girl. “They’re all so much better than me, though. I’m just...clanless.”

“So?” As if that ever really mattered in the grand scheme of things. “I am too. As is our interim Hokage and half the jounin force. Don’t ever think that genetics and hard work can’t compete. If you do, you’ve already lost.” None of the Hatake kids (aside from Asuhi, who wasn’t even going to be a shinobi) had  _ genetics _ on their side. They were Hatake in name and bond, but not blood. Yet they were still all prodigies in their own right. 

“...okay.” The girl murmurs, taking a deep breath. “Thank you. I’ll... think about what you said.”

“Sure thing,” he grins, “Now go back over there, they’re still your friends.”

When she does meekly make her way back over, she’s accepted back as if she’d never wandered away. Sasuke doesn’t look at her.

Toshiro sighs.  _ Maybe I should talk to Itachi about this. The academy should have a class on health and food. I bet the Akimichi would be interested in that…. _ He wanders over to the engawa, sinking deeper into his thoughts. It’s been a few months since his last big ‘project’, so to speak, and even if Itachi was taking control of academy reforms, that didn’t mean the teen wouldn’t accept suggestions. After all, they met pretty frequently to just….talk, and the subject came up more often than not. 

_ Maybe a class specifically for civilian-born students….how to eat, dress  _ —  _ what to buy and where to buy it…Ah, I’ll have to see what his current game plan is right now, I know he had some new ideas last time I saw him... _

(Somewhere in the Uchiha Compound, Uchiha Itachi sneezes, then coughs wetly. Uchiha Fuyumi looks up from the draft they’re crafting to nullify his marriage contract and squints. “Are you catching a cold?”)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kakashi - 24  
> toshiro/shisui/hoshika - 20  
> itachi - 15 (16 soon)  
> chiasa + team gai - 12  
> academy 9 + gin, sai, kojika: 10-11  
> haruki: 9 (almost 10)  
> touma: 8  
> asuhi/takehiko: 7
> 
> *the kids def have picked out birthdays for themselves since none of them remember there actual ones. i'll figure it out in the next few chapters and post it in the notes just in case u guys want to know akdjadkasjd  
> **** IN CASE U WERE WONDERING, IT'S LATE APRIL. japanese school systems start then, so i had the academy follow that. itachi's birthday is early june - and toshiro is turning 21 on july 1 uwu. this also means that some kids are already 11 (like sakura) and others are turning 11 soon (like sasuke). the youngest is hinata, who isn't 11 until december. keeping track of ages is actually kinda fun for me ??? idk makes the world feel a bit bigger...makes time feel more impactful to the story


	16. from ash to soil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shikamaru is a danger to society and we stan

The Nara Heir is staring at him.

Kakashi feels oddly unsettled by this, despite the fact that said Nara Heir is an eleven year old child nowhere  _ near  _ his skill level. It’s those piercing amber eyes — Kakashi has no doubt the kid could orchestrate his murder without breaking a sweat. Shikamaru is a  _ Nara, _ after all.

It’s the first time Kakashi has really noticed it so blatantly, and with such  _ intent  _ behind the look. The kid is familiar enough with him from the frequent visits when Toshiro lived with the Nara’s. They’ve never really  _ talked  _ though, both content to use Toshiro as the middle man between all their pseudo-interactions. Now, as the gathering of five whole clans takes place around him all throughout the Uchiha Compound (it was their turn to host this month), Kakashi is wondering what on earth he’s done to finally earn the boy’s full attention.

“Kakashi, your food’s gonna get cold.” Toshiro nudges his side gently, the scent of mint and ink filtering through his mask. The shorter man is seated beside him on a picnic blanket — one of many strewn around and occupied throughout intersecting Uchiha yards — the fabric patterned in checkered maroon and white. Those bright, blush-pink eyes meet his uncovered one, all open and soft and doing stupid things to Kakashi’s insides. When Toshiro smiles it makes Kakashi want to shunshin away or — or vomit. 

Or do something even dumber and kiss him. 

It’s really not fair that Toshiro is blessed with a perfect smile. Seriously, it’s completely straight, lips pulling up equally and symmetrically — his mouth filled with sparkly, snow-white, perfectly aligned teeth. When he smiles wide enough, it pulls at his cheeks and his nose scrunches a little, and his freckles seem to  _ shift. _

It’s just.

A lot to look at.

Kakashi’s smile is crooked. He doesn't actually look at his own face very often, but he knows that much. Smiling wide also just leads to skin tugging and twisting at the left side of his face because of the scar, and that can't give him very many points in the looks department. His hair is also  _ gray, _ his eyes droopy, skin pale and heavily scarred — hands especially. He’s like a fading ghost! How could he  _ ever  _ possibly compare to a man who glowed like sunshine incarnate, with hair like spun gold — the artsy, aged kind of parchment yellow used for old portraits — aristocratic and faint, shimmering under the daylight?

He’s a walking corpse next to a supernova.

Toshiro shifts and a lock of that pale, washed-out gold slips over his shoulder and brushes his freckled cheek. Kakashi pushes it back without thinking. The other man looks nice with his hair down and tucked behind his ears, strands still stubbornly slipping out and framing his pretty, heart-shaped face. 

Toshiro rolls his eyes at the action, cheeks faintly pink to match his eyes. “I should’ve brought my headband. This is the third time it's almost gotten into my yakisoba. Maybe I should just cut it...”

“Absolutely not.”

The man levels him with a look that's too fond to be truly exasperated. “It’s midway down my back, Kakashi.”

Kakashi resolutely does not tell Toshiro that he looks beautiful with long hair, nor does his expression give away the extremely perverted thoughts he’s had about  _ pulling _ said hair as he does very wicked things to his friend.

“Trim it, then. No one will recognize you with short hair. Everyone will be devastated.” Is what he says. “Besides, it suits you.”

Those freckled cheeks burn a deeper pink, edging on scarlet. It makes Kakashi’s heart do very concerning things. (It makes him want to know what other parts of Toshiro’s body can flush that color.)

“If you say so,” the younger man replies, eyes flickering to the side as a bashful grin plays at the corners of his stupidly symmetrical mouth. 

Kakashi suddenly remembers he’s being watched.

Nara Shikamaru stares back at him from his position some five feet away, completely unimpressed, with one eyebrow raised and an expression on his face that reminds Kakashi that the kid is not just Shikaku's, but Yoshino’s too. 

Shisui calls for Toshiro and the man gets up, plate empty and yakisoba eaten. “Try not to socialize too much,” He teases, then strides away to the exuberant Uchiha that occasionally reminds Kakashi of Obito. Enough to semi-tolerate the man, even if the touchy-feely way he is around Toshiro is profoundly  _ annoying. _

Shikamaru is still staring.

Kakashi feels a shiver of dread rattle down his spine. Those eyes are far too conniving and assessing, more than any eleven year old has the right to be. And Kakashi was a Chuunin at  _ six. _

“Hm.” The boy murmurs. “I see.” He then gets up slowly, as if he has all the time in the word, acting like an old man even at his young age. 

And.

Leaves.

Kakashi watches him wander over to the cult — sorry,  _ gaggle _ — of children without much speed, lazily sauntering in a way that does  _ not _ remind Kakashi of anything remotely deer-like. Because deer are prey animals, and that's the walk of a predator.

Right?

….Right.

He lets out a breath, somehow feeling as if he’s just barely scraped by with his life. Across the yard, Naruto slings his arms around Shikamaru and clings to the boy like a leech. The Nara Heir lets him, one arm curling around Naruto so they don’t disbalance and fall to the ground. It’s a practiced movement, one likely born out of repeated meetings with the dirt after being faced with the full brunt of Naruto and his slightly endearing inability to understand personal space.

Kakashi’s eye narrows.

_ They seem….chummy. _

Maybe he’ll have to tell Naruto that dating isn’t allowed until he’s at least thirty  _ and  _ Hokage. No hand-holding until after marriage. He will literally kill someone to preserve Naruto's innocence, because he’s already terrified of what Minato-sensei and Kushina will say to him in the afterlife for neglecting the boy for so many years. If their precious son gets his heart broken, it’ll somehow be Kakashi’s fault.  _ He just knows it. _

Shikamaru meets his eye again, narrowed and contemplative. Kakashi’s sense of dread multiplies.

_ Or maybe I'll just wait. _

You don’t underestimate a motivated Nara, and nothing gets them more fired up than their loved ones possibly being hurt in  _ any  _ way. Which means the brat has figured Kakashi out and is assessing whether or not Kakashi is going to be a  _ problem. _

How absolutely adorable and completely terrifying. As much of a genius as Kakashi knows himself to be (not to brag, but…), the Nara are in a league of their own and Shikamaru is probably one of the smartest to ever come out of the Clan. That kid could ruin Kakashi’s life in ways he could never even begin to imagine. 

So of course he’s claimed himself as Toshiro’s younger brother.

Kakashi very carefully puts his uneaten food off to the side, then flops spreadeagle on his back and groans. He wants to go home and die under a pile of dogs.

* * *

The day of Uchiha Itachi’s promotion to Godaime Hokage was more of a party than an official coronation. At first, it’s all very prim and proper. Jiraiya does the official announcement to the gathering of shinobi and civilians all pressed together on the streets like packed sardines. Toshiro feels Kakashi’s elbow digging into his side, and the Hatake children are all grouped in front of them on their tip-toes, puppies held to avoid getting stepped on. The day is hot, the sun bright and high in the sky. Toshiro has to make an effort to regulate his temperature with chakra, the heat of the day and heat of so many bodies making everyone sweaty and grumpy despite the looming excitement. 

“It’s time for Konoha to enter a new age,” The Sandaime’s voice booms over the crowd, “One that urges us towards the path of peace and change, where we look to improve upon ourselves and become a village we can gladly call our home. On this day, we welcome our next Hokage, the Godaime of Konohagakure.” The man steps back, his gaze trailing to the side. “Uchiha Itachi!”

Itachi appears from the shadows, stepping into the light beside Jiraiya and Hiruzen. He’s a distant figure on the balcony, but there’s no missing the billowing white cloak and hat atop his head that boldly displays the kanji for fire.

Screams of elation fill the air, Uchiha in the crowd howling their joy with the kind of freedom they never allow themselves to show. All reservations are tossed aside — Toshiro cups his hands around his mouth and  _ screams. _

Shisui’s arms curl around him from behind, the man’s chin digging into the crown of his head. He’s shaken back and forth, Shisui’s sweaty palms grasping the front of his kimono. He barely hears the man’s yells over his own and the sound of the crowd. Hoshika is somewhere to his side, her elbow also brushing his ribs. Surrounded by his favorite people, Toshiro can only howl his joy into the air with the rest of them. 

The kids in front of them are cringing at the noise level, but that doesn’t stop most of them from jumping up and down, joining in on the cheers. Chiasa, Gin and Sai are a little more reserved, not jumping in place like their younger siblings but looking with wide, starstruck eyes as one of the most monumental moments in Konoha’s history unfolds before them. 

“ITACHI! ITACHI! ITACHI!” The crowd chants, and the first Uchiha Hokage tilts his face up to the sun, arm rising until it’s straight up in the air, fist clenched in promise.

Shisui’s sweaty forehead presses to the back of his head, and the hands clenching at the front of his kimono tighten and shake. Toshiro presses his own hands on top of them when he feels his friend begin to tremble. He glances to the side and meets Kakashi’s eye, sending the biggest, most exuberant smile he possibly can at the silver-haired man. 

He doesn’t mind the tears he feels dripping onto his neck, because they are Shisui’s tears of joy.

The celebration lasts for hours, until the sun sets and the streets are swarmed with late night party-goers. Toshiro has never been extremely touchy-feely on his own, always a little too nervous to initiate contact. He’s awkward and so used to shinobi and their aversion to comforting touches — children are easier to deal with, and Shikamaru will probably never grow out of using him as a mattress. Shisui and Hoshika remind him that even adults need a friendly touch every once in a while.

(Touching Kakashi is different.)

So when he finds Itachi some time before he and Kakashi decide to drag the kids back for the night, he doesn’t hesitate to pull the boy towards him. The Hokage cloak is soft and well-made beneath his hands, his fingers splayed against the back, right over the kanji spelling out  _ Godaime. _ Itachi’s nose ends up pressed to his shoulder, the boy still shorter — but growing. After a long moment of hesitation, the impromptu hug is awkwardly returned.

“I’m so proud of you, Itachi.” He says, “I know you’ll do your best, just remember to take care of yourself.”

The teen smiles softly against the fabric of Toshiro’s kimono. “Of course, my medic would be furious otherwise.”

* * *

Moving into his new office doesn’t take too long. (Storage scrolls are a godsend!) His desk is in front of a wide window, filing cabinets pressed to the walls. Little plants and the errant scroll decorate almost every available surface. Inoichi had gifted him a beautiful hanging spider plant as a gift. Shisui had given him a brand new futon, promptly burning Toshiro’s old one with little remorse. 

Being hospital director means being in charge of all the departments — and it’s  _ business  _ heavy. Toshiro wants to help people. He wants to  _ heal _ people. While he still does that, it seems like most days he’s stuck behind a desk doing paperwork or fighting with the Council about something or the other — which is a new development. 

_ Because now he has a seat on the Council. _

The Aburame are managing the orphanages well. Shibi contacted Toshiro just the other day to both congratulate him on his promotion and update him on the situation. The last renovations were complete, the staff upgraded and orphans who were shinobi-in-training had been relocated to the new place in the shinobi district. 

It’s a huge weight off his shoulders. Now there are other people  _ thinking, _ pushing past the past ideals that had, quite blatantly, been brainwashing the shinobi of Konoha. (At least in Toshiro’s eyes. Seriously, anyone who thought that letting a six year old slit a man’s throat was  _ normal  _ was crazy!)

He can use his position to introduce new ideas without needing the aid of others. As much as he loves the bonds he’s made and the allies he can fall back on, it doesn’t change the fact that to even have his voice and concerns be heard he’d had to fight tooth and nail. Now that he’s got a seat on the Council, he has his  _ own  _ power.

Which he refuses to let get to his head. 

Of course, anyone who knows him is probably aware of the scheming look in his eye by now. They’re just waiting for him to say something — but he won’t. Not yet. It’s something he can wait for, at least until after the changes at the Academy take place. Those are currently number one on the list, no matter what Itachi finally decides to implement. 

Obviously, not everyone is on board with Itachi’s drive for change. The Elders especially are weary, and the Hyuuga are bitter in their silent defeat. While there are seven major clans in Konoha — the Uchiha, Nara, Yamanaka, Akimichi, Hyuuga, Inuzuka and Aburame — they are not the  _ only _ Clans, and those with enough members, money or political sway (or any combination of the three) all have seats. As do various civilian business tycoons, or those who head different departments in the village (like Toshiro). 

It’s difficult to pull so many towards a single opinion. The civilians are less inclined to care about the going-on’s of shinobi lifestyle, so they’re generally in agreement as long as money isn’t taken out of their pockets. 

“I want the graduation age to be set at twelve, no exceptions.” Itachi murmurs, his voice heard by all even though he remains relatively soft-spoken.

“Hokage-sama, please,” Utatane Koharu, one of the Elders, urges, “Graduation should be determined by potential. We will limit our forces if we stunt the progression of prodigious shinobi!”

He does not shake his head, but Toshiro is well-versed in  _ Uchiha Speak _ and can tell the teen is mildly annoyed. “We are not at war. There is no need for children on the frontlines, and there never should have been one to begin with. We would only succeed in harming the futures of our shinobi.”

“We’ve never had to be concerned about this before.” Hyuuga Hiashi says, arms crossed and brow furrowed. 

Itachi folds his hands, dark eyes piercing even as his expression does not change. “So you can tell me that every shinobi exposed to violence at a young age is perfectly sound in mind? That the children aren’t plagued with nightmares and personality changes, violent terrors or quirks created as coping mechanisms for the unspeakable horrors they’ve witnessed? Tell me, how many sleepless nights have you faced? Too many to count, as is true for the rest of us. Every single shinobi in this room has struggled with trauma that clings to the mind. To say you haven’t doesn’t make you strong, it makes you the kind of person  _ we do not want. _ For then you have revealed a character we cannot consider human. To feel no remorse or horror at your own actions, no matter how necessary or applauded they are, is not a state of mind to celebrate, but rather to fear.” He settles back in his seat, glancing at the other Council members carefully. “Now tell me, what has twisted you so that you believe the next generation should suffer just as much as you have — just as much as we all have? Are you so set in your ways that you would not seek to make the next group of shinobi who come into our ranks stronger, healthier and more prone to make decisions that don’t lead them down the path of suicidal tenacity?”

There is a moment of disrupted quiet as those who had opposed Itachi stutter over their words and thoughts, unsure of how to respond to such a targeted and exposing tirade. 

“I shouldn’t have to remind you that we are  _ Konohagakure, _ a village built in the heart of a forest. We were born to rise and flourish, to shed our leaves as the seasons change and grow anew when the time comes. We each hold a flame in our hearts, one we should not fear. As citizens of the land of fire, we should rejoice in it — for even if the flames within all of us burn this current tree to the ground, we’ve not  _ lost. _ We’ve just made room for new trees to grow. Whatever decisions we come to in the future, Konoha will  _ never  _ be lost. Konoha is a  _ people, _ not just a place, and every one of us has the potential to inspire rebirth from whatever ashes may be left behind.”

To hear these words from a boy of only sixteen shakes the sturdier foundations of every person present. Itachi speaks like a leader well beyond his years, enough to draw even the grudging respect of Hyuuga Hiashi, if the annoyed, reluctant look in his pupil-less gaze is anything to go by. 

“Do not fear change,” Itachi’s voice is commanding — but not in the sense that he’s telling them all what to do, but rather in that he’s reminding them all of something they’ve forgotten. “Embrace it. For it is in our nature to do so.”

Toshiro can’t believe that this is the same child who’d gifted him the cherry red earrings he still wears, who’d flushed at the thought of marriage. It makes him feel….old.

And content.

Fugaku has never looked prouder.

* * *

It goes like this: It’s mandatory to be at  _ least _ twelve before graduation. In the case of students who outclass their peers, specialty work can be assembled to meet their needs and shinobi will be available to take on apprentices. A child won’t be hampered in their ability to learn, so extra or specialized training was allowed. Kakashi even stated that Gai, especially, would very eagerly create training routines for students who wanted to push themselves if they were vastly ahead of their peers — or even for kids who wanted extra help improving. Essentially, a system of aid was set up in which Jounin or Chuunin who wanted to participate could have their name added to a registry that Academy Sensei’s could access and use to recommend students to shinobi that would help them improve. 

The use of chakra techniques by an academy student  _ without supervision _ was prohibited, and could result in serious consequences if the student was caught. 

As children came with far too many differences, it wasn’t helpful to hold everyone to the same standard. Math, history and other core classes could be taught thoroughly by Academy Sensei’s. The basics of taijutsu, chakra theory and hand signs were also important parts of the education to be learned. 

But a student would now be allowed to expand upon areas of skill or interest by pursuing outside or extra means of education. Essentially, shinobi-to-be would get the opportunity to push themselves and take advantage of advice offered by experienced shinobi, therefore crafting a regimen and education tailored  _ to  _ them,  _ for  _ them.

Genin were required to  _ stay  _ genin for at  _ least  _ six months — the initial push for one year was turned down via majority vote — in order to better integrate themselves with the shinobi system and village. Far too many Genin perished in the Chuunin Exams because they took the one soonest after graduation. For Konoha, that usually meant they only spent two or so months as actual Genin before trying. Almost  _ never _ was that enough time to train enough for incredibly significant improvement in both skill and maturity. Itachi put his foot down in saying that there was a distinction between ranks  _ for a reason. _ A Genin should have experience, both of the worldly and mission kind, before being able to progress. 

“If we want the future to be strong,” he’d said, “We need to start somewhere.”

Altering the actual classes and education offered at the Academy was a steep process. They argued about it well past both Toshiro and Sasuke’s July birthdays, all the way into August. The easiest courses to implement were actually the ones geared toward civilian-born reeducation. After was the Health Course — of which there was already a brief overview of general first aid. It would be expanded upon to include more detail and segments that covered various topics. Akimichi Chouza was also incredibly eager to aid in creating a dietary guide to use for said class, which would help educate both civilian-born and even clan children about the kinds of food and calorie intakes best suited for shinobi. He’d gotten  _ very  _ into it, actually, because according to him dietary needs should be personalized for each person based on fighting style, body type and chakra nature. 

Toshiro had no doubt that by the end of the course, the kids would know exactly how to eat in order to suit their own body and shinobi lifestyle. He himself had been getting pretty lax on monitoring his diet….which had him shrinking a little in his seat the more heated Chouza got about the topic. 

“Lastly,” Itachi announced, blinking slowly in a way that Toshiro  _ knew _ meant he wanted to rub his temple in aggravation. The stress must already be getting to him, poor kid. “I propose we return the Uzumaki Clan to the history curriculum.”

“You would educate the children on our greatest mistake?” A Council member exclaims, a civilian merchant who Toshiro  _ knows _ doesn’t much care for the Clans as a whole. “The Uzumaki are  _ gone, _ there’s no need to dwell on them any longer.”

“I’d watch your mouth,” Kakashi’s voice stills the room. He’s sitting in his chair with a sprawled kind of grace, elbow on the table and his hand cupping his chin. His visible eye is narrowed and curved in a mock smile. “It’s not polite to disrespect the dead, especially when one of those  _ Uzumaki _ was Yondaime-sama’s wife.”

This makes a few people shift uncomfortably. The Yondaime is still held to the highest esteem, having been a kind, charismatic leader who both contributed greatly to their winning of the third war and saved the entirety of the village at the cost of his own life, and the life of his wife.

“We wear the Uzumaki crest on our backs as a sign of respect to our fallen allies,” Toshiro can’t help but add. Having so many eyes on him is incredibly uncomfortable. He hates it, actually, but needs to swallow past his anxiety if he wants to get anything done. “Yet every day we seem to forget the reason a little bit more. Their clan has done more for Konoha than we could possibly imagine, and that does not include the fact that Shodaime-sama himself took an Uzumaki wife.  _ Without whom _ we would not have a third of our precious legendary sannin, who almost single-handedly won us the second shinobi war.”

Shikaku clears his throat. “We also have an Uzumaki in the village. So long as he lives, the Uzumaki will never be gone. It is also likely there are others wandering the world, and even more likely that many of our own citizens carry the remnants of Uzumaki blood from the warring clan era.”

Toshiro tries not to grin. It’s incredibly difficult.

_ He’s fond of Naruto. Not surprising, seeing as he was Yondaime-sama’s advisor, and he’s definitely picked up on the fact that Shikamaru would probably skin anyone who looked at Naruto wrong. _

Ah, what a scary little brother Toshiro has. His protective streak is so cute.

Itachi nods at Shikaku’s words. “To add upon that, I would like to open our doors to any remaining Uzumaki refugees. Obviously, we will take their integration seriously to keep the village safe. But if you locate, rescue, or happen upon someone of Uzumaki blood, I urge you to pass on this declaration of protection and amnesty.”

That meant the usual background check, interrogation and possible Yamanaka mindwalk to check for malicious intent. Not a problem if you had nothing to hide. That being said, petty crimes and thievery would be easily overlooked — especially if it meant having an  _ Uzumaki, _ shinobi trained or not. That was the sad part, Uzumaki really  _ were _ a hot commodity. Their skill sets and potential were  _ insane. _

But the greed of politics was also why those who knew about Asuhi’s lineage were keeping it a secret. If it got out, there would be a vote to attempt to force her into the shinobi lifestyle. Toshiro would die before letting her choice be taken from her, and he knows that Kakashi would be right beside him, fighting tooth and nail.

* * *

Toshiro knows she’s there before she knocks. 

Gin answers the door, his silver eyes squinting at the pink-haired girl, his frown hidden behind a black face mask with a snaggle-toothed grin stitched in white.

“Sakura.” He greets after a beat. “...are you looking for Kojika?”

“Um, actually, I’m looking for Aikawa-sensei.”

Gin blinks, “Nii-san?”

Toshiro takes that as his cue to appear behind his little brother, fondly ruffling the boy’s mousey brown hair. “Hello, Sakura-chan.”

She stands with her shoulders hunched and her hands tucked to her chest, clad in another flimsy looking qipao dress. Her stare, however, is hard and determined, even if she looks like she’s five seconds from keeling over in anxiety. (Or lack of food. Seriously, she needed a sandwich or something. Her wrists look like bird bones!)

“I have my answer.”

“Oh?” He replies as Gin trails away to remove himself from the conversation.

Sakura looks up at him with wide, spring green eyes. “I want to be a shinobi that saves people, that protects people like my tou-chan and kaa-chan and allows them to live in peace.” Her hands tighten even further into fists and she drops them to her sides, stance becomes less demure and anxious. She takes a deep breath, “And I want —  _ I want to be strong enough to beat up Sasuke!” _

(She didn’t say Sasuke- _ kun.) _

Toshiro smiles and steps to the side, creating space in the doorway to allow her in. “Looks like we have some work to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eyyy this chapter is a bit more politically-oriented, but !! SO MUCH PROGRESS,,, gotta get it all outta the way so toshi and kaka can finally smoocH lmao


	17. first leaf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUNANANANA NEW CHAPTERRRR! plot? in MY romance fic?

Sakura doesn’t have much stamina. That is just as concerning as her lack of knowledge about healthy shinobi living. She’s slight, though taller than Naruto, and her limbs are pale and noodley. Figuring out what kind of routine works for her is a little difficult, because for all that Toshiro wants to help her — he’s never taught anything but Medical Ninjutsu.

“How do you feel about medicine?” He asks her, when she’s heaving on the ground, sweaty and red-faced. She’s been coming over after class (not every day, she’s still a child who wants to play with her friends, after all) to train in the Hatake’s backyard, usually accompanied by the Hatake kids who have their own training schedules. It’s a pretty loud affair, with the sounds of fighting, exertion and dogs all colliding.

She weakly pushes herself up, “I-I don’t know...I don’t want to be left behind.”

“Learning medical ninjutsu is not a weakness.” Itachi once said those words to him, or some variation. It still sticks with him.

Sakura flushes, afraid she’s insulted him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean —”

“I know,” he laughs, waving her off. “Relax, I’m not mad. It’s not for everyone, I’ll say that. But it’s a useful skill to have, no matter the situation.”

The girl frowns in contemplation, then nods. “You’re right.”

“Plus, you’re one of the smartest kids in the academy right now. I have no doubt you’d excel at it.”

She flushes a little, “...you really think so?”

Toshiro offers her a grin, “Of course I do.” It’s sad that she can’t see it herself. He kind of understands what Fugaku meant about Sasuke being annoyed with her — not that Toshiro was annoyed, but it helped him see Sasuke’s perspective for what it really was. The young Uchiha is observant, and smarter than most give him credit for. He can clearly see that Sakura is brilliant, which is why it bothers him so much when she acts like an airheaded fangirl.

_ It’s funny, she wants Sasuke to notice her and he already has. Now it’s up to her to meet his expectations. _

Toshiro can say he also wants Sakura to meet them, because Sasuke’s only expectation is that Sakura reaches her  _ actual _ potential. 

“Sakura.”

They both glance over. Gin approaches carefully, hands in his pockets. His puppy trails behind him, snowy white and tail wagging. The dogs have grown quite a bit in the months they’ve been around. They aren’t going to be especially  _ huge _ dogs, but their size is drastically different from when they’d first appeared. Gin’s companion is a female pup he named Tomoe.

From his pocket he pulls out a kunai, “I’ll show you how to throw, come on.”

And she goes.

Toshiro smiles fondly at the boy, watching as he directs Sakura’s movements with the same patience he uses when teaching Takehiko. For all that Gin idolizes Kakashi — still wearing those masks — he’s much more suited to teaching. Far more diligent, too. It wouldn’t be a surprise if the silver eyed boy became an academy teacher down the line.

Kakashi still fears making a student turn out like him. It’s unfounded, but Toshiro can understand the reasoning. Being responsible for impressionable kids is terrifying. Every day is a learning process — Toshiro just has to remind himself that he’s making the right decisions.

Giving them everything he had missed out on.

Love. A listening ear. Comfort. 

It’s good for him too, because it lets him unlearn all the toxic, isolating traits he’d picked up while trying to survive in a child-killing world. Toshiro doesn’t want to be that sad, lonely child anymore. He wants to be a man who makes the world a little brighter for years to come, long after he leaves his second life.

(And isn’t that an interesting, if fleeting, thought?  _ Would he get a third? _ )

* * *

“Rin~” Kojika coos, rolling around in the dirt with her sesame-colored puppy. The still growing pup nips at her fingers and falls over her own paws to get belly rubs from the lavender-haired girl. 

Over five months, and it’s the first time Kakashi doesn’t flinch when he hears it.

She didn’t choose the name out of spite. She didn’t choose the name to hurt him. Kojika doesn’t even know that Kakashi’s teammate bore the same name, even if the kanji is different.

_ Deer, _ that’s what the little puppy’s name means. To go with Kojika’s  _ fawn _ name and obvious adoration of the Nara Clan. It’s cute, and no one minds it. It was  _ Shikamaru’s  _ presence that helped her come out of her shell when she’d still lived at the Yamanaka Compound, after all. The Clan will always hold a special place in her heart, as it will with the rest of the Hatake. Kakashi included.

Even if the little Heir makes him fear for his life.

Kojika places the puppy’s paws against his knee and beams up at him. He smiles back, even if she can’t see it. He’s sure she can tell.

“Looks like Rin-chan is going to need a bath, Ko-chan.” he comments, petting Rin’s fluffy head. There’s a smudge of dirt down Kojika’s left cheek. 

It doesn’t feel like being stabbed, saying that name. If anything, it’s accompanied by a sort of  _ nostalgic  _ feeling. Lingering sadness, maybe, but not soul-tearing pain and guilt. Not that he doesn’t still feel guilty — he does. But.  _ He knows exactly what Rin would have wanted, even if he refuses to acknowledge it.  _

For him to be happy.

(This must be what healing feels like.)

* * *

“What I’m presenting you with is the culmination of over a year’s efforts in deciphering and organizing the wreck of paperwork left behind by Danzo.” Itachi purposefully drops three storage scrolls on Toshiro’s desk.

It’s not often that Itachi comes to  _ Toshiro, _ because the Hokage leaving his office instead of just summoning the other there is just...odd, in practice. But Itachi is not like any Hokage before him, and he plans to keep it that way with great intent.

“Three?” He asks, a little incredulous, “Wait — what does this have to do with me?”

“You’re the hospital director, and currently one of our leading forces in the medical field. All three of these scrolls contain every piece of paperwork and research left behind relating to medical practices and experiments done by Danzo — or rather, under his orders.” The teen pauses, his usually stoic demeanor tense. There’s a brief flash of exhaustion in his eyes, one that Toshiro knows Itachi would never usually allow to show. It warms his heart a little that the teen trusts him enough to reveal a little emotional vulnerability now and again. Keeping that aloof facade up all day must really be tiring. “And there is information in here that I only trust  _ you  _ with, because I know you’d never try to recreate or act on it.”

Toshiro doesn’t smile, because this really isn’t the situation, but he’s sure the other sees the sappy look in his petal-pink eyes, if the way Itachi’s cheeks flush is any indication. “That bad, huh?”

Itachi clears his throat, “It seems he had an... _ understanding _ of sorts with Orochimaru.”

“....before or after Orochimaru’s defection?”

“Yes.” Is all Itachi says.

“Ah,” Well that’s great. “Wonderful. Why not just burn it all?”

At this, Itachi’s eyes flash in vague annoyance. “I’d prefer to, actually, but the Council doesn’t deny that Orochimaru is a genius. What’s in these notes could give us certain advantages, whether or not we approve of how the information was gained. Frankly speaking, I still don’t particularly care.” Then he lets out a sigh, the annoyance fading away. “Unfortunately, there’s a...situation.”

“A situation.” Toshiro repeats flatly. 

Itachi does not grimace, but it sure looks like he wants to. “As you know, almost all Root agents were killed if they could not be rehabilitated, and we had to deal with agents that had infiltrated our ranks. There was one shinobi that Kakashi... _ requisitioned _ from Danzo some years before the whole debacle. He’s been an active member of ANBU and was deemed loyal to Konoha. The issue, and the main reason I’m even allowing those papers to continue existing, is that he’s the result of child experimentation by Orochimaru.”

That — That is a very good reason. Toshiro runs a hand through his loose hair, tucking strands of pale gold behind one ear. Orochimaru is a genius, sure, but there was no telling the kind of repercussions child experimentation had, especially once hormones got involved. The body  _ changes,  _ there’s no possible way to account for all the what-ifs _ ….  _ That’s why it’s considered  _ experimentation. _

“I see.” He finally says, now feeling just as tired as Itachi looks. Which is pretty bad, now that Toshiro thinks about it. “I’ll look over it. But I’d like to see this ANBU sometime.”

“Of course.” Itachi nods, the bags under his eyes starkly visible. 

“Have you been sleeping?” 

The Godaime smiles a little, “I’m fine, Toshiro-sensei.”

“I think I’ll be the judge of that,” he mutters, distinctly unimpressed. Shinobi really were the worst patients. There is no shame in keeping your health up. 

Itachi hesitates, features pinching. He then sighs, likely finding it redundant to hide anything health related from Toshiro. “Well, I suppose...I’ve been feeling rather ill lately. I assumed it was the stress.”

“You said  _ assumed. _ Past tense.” Toshiro stands and walks around his desk to approach Itachi. “So, what changed?”

A dark gaze meets his own, “Well, I suppose it was the cough.”

Immediately, Toshiro presses a hand to Itachi’s chest. Green chakra lights up around his palm and the teen doesn’t even flinch at the suddenness of it all. 

Itachi is both the Hokage and his friend, there is no way Toshiro is letting the teen walk out of here if he isn’t in pristine health. The last thing Konoha needs right now is for another new Hokage to keel over shortly after taking office. And he does  _ not _ want Hiruzen back in the seat. The old man is  _ done, _ as far as Toshiro is concerned. 

His diagnostic jutsu seeps into Itachi’s flesh, all the way down to the Uchiha’s lungs. He can’t help but furrow his brow at what he finds there — because that is distinctly  _ not  _ healthy tissue. There’s some deterioration of the more sensitive lung tissue, and a rattle in Itachi’s chest when he breathes in and out. 

“Are you in pain?”

Itachi blinks. “....It’s not agonizing.”

“Discomfort, then.” Toshiro frowns, “Why didn’t you come forward sooner?”

The teen glances away from Toshiro’s disappointed eyes. “There’s far too much to worry about.”

“Well you can’t worry much about all those problems if you’re laid up with a debilitating illness, can you?” It’s said a little snippily, but honestly — Itachi is smarter than this. Damn shinobi and their self-sacrificing natures.

The Uchiha dips his head to acknowledge the reprimand. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Toshiro huffs, “You should be. Really, did you learn nothing from those Medical Ninjutsu classes? I have half a mind to make you retake the course. You of all people should know—”

“A med-nin is useless if they cannot care for themselves.” Itachi finishes quietly. “I suppose I needed to be reminded.”

“Yeah, well, don’t forget again. Now,” Toshiro claps his hands gently. “Let’s figure this out. Come with me and we’ll get some blood drawn to run tests.”

There are quite a few diseases that can destroy lung tissue, not to mention the amount of poisons. Toshiro is loath to consider the possibility that someone is poisoning the young Godaime, but it doesn’t hurt to be thorough. He’d never forgive himself if Itachi grew sicker due to Toshiro’s negligence. It’s a little scary, actually. This is the kind of thing that ruins shinobi careers — especially if it isn’t a mere illness Itachi caught out on a mission or from someone else. If it’s genetic...it could be incurable. 

Not that that would stop Toshiro from trying. He has a lab full of half-asleep Nara! There’s no telling what they can come up with — the cure for cancer, maybe, if they were feeling snazzy or had a cup of coffee.

Itachi can’t stay long, he’s a busy man with Hokage duties to attend to. So Toshiro takes the scrolls (he’s not letting them out of his sight until he’s safely within the walls of the Hatake Compound) and leads the younger man to the labs. There, he takes blood, skin and spit samples, then sends his friend on his way. He’ll have to do a more thorough body check at a later date. As much as Toshiro doesn’t like it, the image Itachi upholds is important. The kid  _ has _ to look unflappable and strong. For all his power, he’s still  _ sixteen _ and people will doubt him at every turn. So while Itachi goes off to pretend he isn’t sick, Toshiro choses a few lab workers that he  _ trusts _ to look over the samples with him. Patient confidentiality for shinobi makes it easy to keep the identity of the person a secret, so they can’t put a name or face to the DNA they are examining. ….As long as no one has memorized the appearance of Uchiha DNA. 

He side-eyes Nara Okushika, but she shows no expression other than vapid interest in what she’s working on. Well, it’s not like he doesn’t trust her, so even if she does figure out that their patient is Itachi, he isn’t worried about her going around telling people.

It sucks, but as hospital director, Toshiro can’t spend so much time in the labs. He has to leave it to the workers there, requesting a full report on all their findings and to test for all known lung diseases or poisons with lung-damaging symptoms. A bit of a tall order, but doable. 

All he can do now is go back to his office, finish some paperwork, do his rounds on the floor, then sit back and read those possibly (definitely) traumatizing scrolls containing the notes of a madman. 

* * *

Toshiro feels exhausted when he returns home that night. The scrolls had been deplorable and disgusting, the contents describing numerous inhumane experiments that Orochimaru performed and Danzo was aware of — or even requested. Hundreds of orphans over the past twenty or so years — all either ended up in Root or on an operating table, sometimes both.

Like the ANBU, who is, in a little added note by Shikaku, the only survivor of a genetic manipulation experiment in which Orochimaru tried to graft Senju Hashirama’s DNA into  _ children. _ The kid was rescued from an abandoned base, only to be shunted right into Danzo’s hands. From one prison to the next. 

The sick, twisted things Orochimaru did to those children — Toshiro wants to beat every drop of blood from the man’s body until he’s a sack of unrecognizable meat. There are, however reluctantly Toshiro is to admit, some very detailed notes by the snake sannin that solve a few issues with poisons they’ve been struggling with. It sickens Toshiro to even consider taking that research and using it — but he can’t exactly turn away a cure that will help people, now can he?

“Ugh.” He groans into the near-empty living room. It’s dark outside and the moon is high in the sky, telling of how late it really is. Today had been too long of a shift.

“Rough night?” Kakashi asks from the shadows, lounging carelessly on the couch like he’s part of the decor. The kids have all long since gone to bed, so it’s just the two of them down here.

Feeling strung out and vaguely nauseous, Toshiro stumbles a little and drops straight down on top of Kakashi. The man lets out a startled sound, body tensing and arms reflexively curling around Toshiro’s back. 

Toshiro lays against Kakashi’s chest, pressing his ear to the man’s shirt and sighing when he hears the heartbeat there, fast and quick. He snakes his arms around and under Kakashi’s torso, even though the position is likely uncomfortable, and  _ squeezes. _

Kakashi lets out a careful breath, “That bad, huh?”

“Fucking Orochimaru.” Is all Toshiro manages, boiling in disgust and exhaustion and rage. It’s a tangle of too-intense emotions, far more than he’s used to dealing with all at once. It’s just sitting there, heavy and foreboding, in the delicate cavern of his chest. Bruising his heart. He’s sworn more today than he has in the past year!

“Ah.” The copy-nin hums, “That.”

“I hope Itachi kills that slimy bastard, or at least puts out the order to do so.” He mutters vehemently. “I’ll skin him myself.”

Kakashi exhales, his chest jerking in a silent laugh. “I’m sure if you asked, Itachi would be hard pressed to say no.”

Every word rumbles pleasantly in Kakashi’s chest and under Toshiro’s ear, making his toes curl at how sauve and deep the older man’s voice gets when he’s whispering. Toshiro’s pretty sure he could listen to Kakashi talk for hours. He wonders if the man is any good at singing —

“I just really hate him.” He murmurs softly. “How cruel can a person be?”

Kakashi’s hands seem to tighten for a brief moment. “We’ll get him, Toshiro. He won’t get away with it forever. In the meantime, maybe you should take a shower.”

Toshiro pushes himself up, gaping, “Hatake Kakashi, are you saying I  _ stink?” _

(He knows very well that he reeks of the hospital, the sharp, sterile smell probably hurting Kakashi’s nose.)

“Well, I’m not saying you smell like roses—”

He smacks Kakashi’s chest and hops off the couch, turning away to hide his grin. “Fine, fine, I’m going, you little jerk.”

“Between the two of us, the only  _ little one _ is you.” Kakashi drawls.

The  _ audacity. _ He huffs sharply and makes his way out of the room. “You know, I think we’ll have fried tempura for dinner tomorrow.”

Immediately, Kakashi straightens from his sprawled position, “No, wait— Toshiro!”

“Maybe we’ll even make mochi.”

Kakashi lets out a wounded noise, “Now you’re just being cruel!”

* * *

It takes a few days for Itachi’s tests to come back. 

Toshiro looks over the documents on his desk, frowning heavily. It’s not — it’s not  _ terrible. _ But certainly not great. They’re pretty lucky they caught it early, actually. A few more months or years and...well, best not to think about it.

_ Alpha-1 Antitrypsin (AAT) Deficiency. Genetic. Not surprising, but I’ll have to ask Fugaku if anyone in their family tree experienced lung problems. It’s certainly likely they never noticed, what with the age expectancy being so low back then, and this is usually an issue that presents itself when people start hitting their late forties. So of course Itachi would be one of the rare ones to develop it early on.  _

He sighs and rubs his forehead, trying in vain to release some of the tension building there. There’s no  _ cure, _ technically. It’s a genetic disorder, so Itachi’s body merely  _ doesn’t _ produce enough AAT proteins and it never will. The deterioration of his lungs can be fixed, but it’s not permanent and he’ll need  _ continued  _ treatments to fix whatever damage  _ continually  _ occurs over his lifetime. Based on the results, and the full body check-up he performed the other day, Toshiro has a good grasp on the symptoms Itachi is presenting and their severity.

Mucus build-up in his lungs, deterioration of the tissue, wheezing, coughing, chest pain — and his exhaustion is obvious. This kind of deficiency will wear down Itachi’s stamina and put him at risk for full-on lung disease or cancer. 

There is no cure-all end-all. Medical Ninjutsu can stimulate the creation of AAT proteins, but since Itachi can’t make them on his own, he’ll have to come in for regular treatment to keep up his health. 

For the rest of his life.

_ Chakra really is amazing, though. _ If this was back in Toshiro’s first life — well, it wouldn’t be a  _ death sentence,  _ but the quality of life wouldn’t come  _ near _ what can be achieved here. The sheer amount of  _ regeneration  _ chakra can accomplish is  _ incredible  _ and Itachi will certainly live an easier life because of it.

_ Not to mention,  _ Toshiro thinks,  _ That Itachi is proficient in Medical Ninjutsu himself. He’s not at the skill level required to target and produce the specific protein he needs, but that is something he can learn through practice. Then he’ll be able to treat  _ himself  _ someday and the number of hospital visits will be greatly reduced.  _

The Hokage can’t be seen as weak. Not that  _ this  _ made Itachi at all weak, the teen can still wipe the floor with the majority of Konoha’s shinobi forces, but frequent sightings at the hospital won’t be great for morale. The citizens can’t help but gossip, Toshiro knows that much.

Well.

At least this is one thing out of the way. He feels a lot better now that he knows what’s wrong with his friend. It’s relatively good news in comparison to the shit he’s had to deal with. Reading all these notes about Orochimaru and Danzo’s sick experiments is just…a lot. A lot that he really doesn’t want to deal with, even if he knows he has to. 

Toshiro folds the medical report carefully, then seals it in a scroll. This is sensitive information — anything relating to the health of the Hokage is. All of Itachi’s medical records have been, essentially, double-sealed. Shinobi already have carefully stored and protected documents, but the security is almost tripled for the Hokage. Anything and everything has the potential to be used against the man (or woman, one day) who wore the hat. 

He bites his thumb and activates the blood-lock seal. It’s a wonder more shinobi don’t get into fuuinjutsu. It’s such a versatile subject, with  _ infinite  _ applications. The Nara who taught themselves a little more thoroughly than others had outfitted the hospital exactly as Toshiro desired.

_ And Jiraiya looked everything over during his stay here. _

While he still isn’t the biggest fan of the man, Toshiro can’t deny the fact that Jiraiya is a  _ fuuinjutsu master. _ One of the few in the world. Every patient room is outfitted with barrier protection, blood-lock seals that are keyed in to the patient and attending professionals, and a defense in case of attempted break-ins. 

(He very clearly remembers that they work  _ very well.  _ Back when those Root agents came for Shisui and Hoshika, one of the agents had been almost completely knocked out by the jolt of defensive lightning. Served them right.)

Actually, the entire hospital is outfitted with seals to protect against disaster-level events. Barrier seals would activate if the surrounding area was devastated, protecting those within even if the walls crumbled around them. The rooms storing all medical documents have some of the most intricate, barely legible fuuinjutsu Toshiro has ever seen. The full seal is massive, specifically made to document and log anyone who enters or exits the rooms — and they can only be entered if you have the clearance to get past the blood-lock seals. Every day at 12AM, a scroll is pressed against the seal’s center-most point by the doors and the names of those who entered in the last twenty-four would appear, kanji spilling from the wall like wet ink to sprawl across the parchment. 

It was expensive and complex, but worth it to protect information. One day, they might have a more technology-based approach. (Toshiro can only hope.) But that day isn’t for a long while. Plus, how exactly would technology and fuuinjutsu interact? Is it even possible? Toshiro isn’t a master by any stretch of the imagination, but fuuinjutsu  _ does  _ interest him quite a bit. He only knows enough to compliment his medical ninjutsu; so, storage scrolls, blood-seals, regenerative seals, chakra directors, chakra suppressors — but he doesn’t know anything beyond what relates to his field of expertise. There simply isn’t enough time in the day for him to pick up a complex subject like fuuinjutsu.

At least Naruto seems to like it.

Asuhi is far more patient than her cousin, but has less of a drive to craft seals beyond the basic ones. She doesn’t want to get too involved with the shinobi lifestyle and Toshiro isn’t keen to push her. As long as she’s proficient in protective seals, like barriers, temperature regulators and storage scrolls, he doesn’t see the need for her to be made to learn any more. Whether she develops an interest and wants to continue is entirely up to her.

_ Naruto _ struggles, but never puts  _ half  _ into anything. He’s not great at reading or writing, but he’s drastically improved since gaining all his friends. Crafting actual seals is still a long while off, first he’ll have to perfect his calligraphy.  _ Never let it be said Naruto would back down from a challenge. _

Toshiro thinks the boy could grow to be a seal master one day — like his father was, like the legacy his mother carried.

Fuuinjutsu is in Naruto’s blood.

Toshiro pulls himself from his wandering thoughts. He still has work to do today. Placing the sealed scroll in his lab coat, he makes his way out of his office. There’s still a few more hours of clinic work in his shift. Afterwards, he’ll head over to the Hokage Tower to see if he can catch Itachi and speak with him about the test results. Again — kind of a shitty situation for a new, young Hokage, but they’ll get through it together. Itachi has allies who will protect and support him, more than just Toshiro. 

* * *

A week before Kakashi’s birthday, Uchiha Shisui has a mission. Toshiro somehow finds himself getting up at the crack of dawn to see his friend off at the gates of Konoha, the sun barely peeking over the horizon. The temperature is cool, but nowhere near as chilly as the mornings will be once fall sets in. Summer still clings to the coming day. 

“I’ll be gone for three weeks!” Shisui complains, his arms looped around both Hoshika and Toshiro. He’s got his face squished against their cheeks, and Toshiro can only suffer in quiet silence. Hoshika doesn’t even try to protest, far too accustomed to her boyfriend’s antics. 

“Good luck.” Toshiro says into the man’s shoulder. He gently returns the awkward three-way hug. 

“Yeah, don’t die.” Hoshika chips in, sounding completely apathetic.

“Would it kill you guys to sound a little more torn?” The Uchiha mutters, “No ‘ _ I’ll miss you, Shisui~! _ ’ or  _ ‘Come back in one dashingly handsome piece, Shisui~!’ _ , huh?” 

A moment later, the man lets out a high-pitched yelp and releases them, Hoshika having jabbed her fingers into his ticklish side. Toshiro snorts out a laugh as Shisui dances away from her hand, her fingers wiggling threateningly. 

“Come back soon,” she says, lips curling into a fond, crooked smile. Hoshika keeps her expression relatively aloof, sporting the same lazy look in her eye that all Nara seem to carry like a genetic trait. “In one dumbass piece of whatever’s left of you.”

“Avoid wandering away with strange men,” Toshiro smiles serenely, keeping his tone even. “Don’t forget to eat and drink water.”

Shisui narrows his eyes at them. “You’re both awful and I hate you,” he mutters flatly. 

“You’re a shinobi,” Hoshika clicks her tongue, “Please learn to lie better.”

Toshiro purses his lips tight to stop himself from laughing at the offended pout on Shisui’s face. “It’s only three weeks, Shisui. You’ll be back before you know it.”

“Yeah, yeah...tell Kakashi  _ Happy Birthday _ for me!” The Uchiha waggles his one visible eyebrow at Toshiro, “Maybe give him a smooch, yeah?”

A crimson flush rises to Toshiro’s cheeks. He shoves at the Uchiha’s arm. “Hurry up and leave! I won’t miss you at all!”

Hoshika coughs into her fist, poorly disguising a sound of amusement. When she speaks, however, her words are less taunting. “Just don’t get lost. Come back soon.”

Shisui smiles brightly and swoops forward to kiss her, quick and messy. He bounces away when she flicks his chest, laughter falling free and easy from his lips. “No problem! Just you wait, I bet I won’t even take all three weeks!”

Hoshika and Toshiro stand at the gates until Shisui’s figure has faded from view and the sun spills pink and gold across the partially cloudy sky. 

She tilts her head up to gaze at the watercolor sunrise, her elbow brushing his. “Looks like a good day for cloud watching.”

“Yeah,” he replies, turning his eyes up as well, “It certainly does.”

* * *

Shikamaru is eleven in a few weeks, but he still acts like he’s smaller than he actually is. Er, well, at least whenever Toshiro is around.

“It’s because you spoiled him so much.” Yoshino sighs and shakes her head. Shikamaru is settled in Toshiro’s lap and out cold — or at least very convincingly pretending to be. His dark hair brushes Toshiro’s chin and while he’s still small, he’s a lot weightier than he was almost two years ago. It still doesn’t mean Toshiro will be moving anytime soon. 

Kakashi hadn’t wanted a big birthday party, he just wasn’t the type to bother with that kind of thing. Unfortunately, no one told the kids that, and Toshiro did absolutely nothing to stop them. So they organized a party at the Hatake Estate, inviting all their friends — and therefore their friends’ relatives, because it was only polite when considering ‘official’ clan relations. 

Yukimura-sensei, Akimichi Chouza and his wife, Chiharu, get along swimmingly — they’re the ones dishing out the food right now, all while talking about swapping recipes. The kids are sitting in groups or running around playing ninja, and Toshiro is glad to see that Sakura is actually playing as well instead of joining the group on the grass. Her stamina has improved greatly over the past few weeks, and even after running around chasing Touma and Naruto she doesn’t look winded. 

She even manages to catch Haruki, who lets out a short scream when she tackles him to the ground with murder in her eyes. No longer is she afraid of getting a little dirt under her nails, or grass stains on her clothes. He’d taken her to the correct stores for clothes shopping almost immediately after she came to him for help, because they had to start with the basics. The clothes she wears now are far more durable, far more resistant to tearing and staining —  _ and far more practical than the flimsy dress she’d worn before. _ Besides, she’s a kid. She shouldn’t worry about dirt and stains anyway.

“Nice job.” Sasuke mutters, and holds out a hand to pull her off the ground. Sakura looks at him with wide eyes, a flush spreading across her cheeks. Her hand trembles a little when she reaches out, but her jaw is set firmly when she takes his offered one.

“Thanks,” Haruki says from the ground, blowing a stand of golden blond hair out of his equally gold eyes with a huff. “I guess I’ll just help myself. Not like I didn’t just get tackled or anything.”

Toshiro presses his grin against the crown of Shikamaru’s head to hide it, the boy’s thick, spiky ponytail pressing firmly against his freckled cheek in retaliation.

(Despite the Birthday Boy’s aversion to sweets, there  _ is  _ a cake. A delightful,  _ beautifully  _ made dog-themed cake, thanks to Chouza and Chiharu. It’s big enough to allow everyone attending the party a single slice — meaning it’s absolutely gargantuan, and Toshiro has no idea how they managed to get it here without ruining it, nor does he want to think  _ at all _ about how long it would have taken to make. Kakashi manages to swallow down three whole bites before he sneaks the rest of his slice onto Takehiko’s plate, and the boy crashes from a sugar high about two hours later.)

(He does miss Shisui.)

* * *

It is far into the early hours of the morning by the time he and Kakashi turn in to sleep, the last friend finally leaving — Gai. It was Gai, who wouldn’t stop weeping about Kakashi’s great youth.

Their rooms are next to each other, so they traverse the hall together, silent and tired. Today was very high energy, especially for someone like Kakashi, who isn’t very socially inclined on a good day. Toshiro puts his hand on the man’s elbow before they part ways.

Kakashi pauses, dark eye blinking. “Hm?”

“Happy twenty-fifth birthday, Kakashi.” Toshiro whispers, then leans up on his toes to press a soft kiss to Kakashi’s masked cheek, on the side with the scar hidden underneath. “I’m glad you were born.”

Then he turns and enters his room.

He sleeps until 1PM.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we are.... SO CLOSE TO THE PRE-SHIPPUDEN TIMELINE. 1 YEAR BABES! 1 YEAR!


	18. greenery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hm so, not to be gay but...they gay

Kakashi, for a single, heart-stopping moment, thought Toshiro was leaning in to kiss him. 

(Which, okay, he _did,_ but not how Kakashi expected.) 

The shorter male had pressed close enough for Kakashi to count every freckle dotting his cheeks, body leaning up — probably on his tip-toes, with their four inch height difference. Slightly parted lips, half-lidded eyes — what had he been supposed to think? His brain had completely flatlined, actually, so not much thinking took place at all. It came back online to register the fact that the soft pressure on his cheek was Toshiro’s lips.

He stood completely still when the other man trailed away without thought, shutting his bedroom door behind him. Kakashi remained, _in shock,_ unable to move from his frozen position in the hallway like an idiot. Beneath his skin, his heart _pulsed_ and ached like never before. He crouched slowly, trying to swallow down the suffocating, nameless emotion. It felt like his body was attempting to throw up the sun. His skin burned and his hands shook and all he could do was press his forehead to his knees and try to breathe. Some desperate, feral part of him just _wanted._

 _Wanted to throw that door back open and_ actually _kiss Toshiro. Wanted to touch him until he cried, until he said he’d only be Kakashi’s and no one else’s._

The softer part of him still wanted all that, yeah. There’s no use lying to himself at this point when he can practically smell his own arousal. But he also wanted to just… hold Toshiro. Run his hands through long blond hair or press his nose to that lightly freckled neck and sit, timeless. 

Kakashi didn’t _do_ emotion like this, he mentally could not compute. The humiliation was intense, enough to make him want to scream — and he just didn’t _do that._ Beyond that, it was...if he had to choose a word, _breathtaking._ Incredible. Like he could channel his inner Gai and run around Konoha 500 times. 

_Fact: I want to touch Toshiro._

What else?

The man was his friend, one of the best he’s _ever_ and likely _will ever_ have. They shared a home, a life, their fears and hopes. Kakashi would slit his own throat for Toshiro, and he knows the other man would do exactly the same for him. It wasn’t healthy in the slightest, but they were shinobi and the possibility was alway present. _Death_ was always present. 

_Fact: I don’t know what I’d do without Toshiro._

Okay, okay. 

Kakashi runs his hands through his hair and clutches at the silvery strands. He thumps his forehead against his knees repeatedly, trying to knock some sense into his disoriented mind. It’s a bit like drowning. Or getting tossed into a lake headfirst and told to _figure it out,_ except you couldn’t swim yet, so it was a lot of failing and swallowing water. He needed to learn how to tread water. 

(Swim, Kakashi. Swim.)

With a great sigh, Kakashi drops his hands from his hair and finally stands. 

_Fact: I wanted Toshiro to kiss me._

He doesn’t sleep well that night.

* * *

Inuzuka Kiba gets along with Naruto some days. On others, he’s the main source of teasing the Uzumaki faces. Toshiro won’t pretend to understand how their relationship works. He’s pretty sure they’re just so similar in exuberance that bad blood never sits between them for very long. After all, the Inuzuka might be a bit rude, but he’s never been downright _cruel._

That doesn’t mean Toshiro knows how to handle the kid, his likeness to Naruto aside.

“It’s _you.”_ Kiba exclaims, one fingering rudely pointing at Toshiro. He has no idea why the Inuzuka heir is with the group today. It’s the first time the boy has been to the Hatake Compound. “The _nee-san_ from before!”

Asuhi reaches over and, in a very Uzumaki-like fashion, smacks Kiba upside the head. “Toshi-nii is a _boy,_ dummy.” She flashes her teeth, most of her little fangs having grown in.

Kiba flashes his own right back, though they are marginally less impressive and he’s missing one on the bottom. “Well how was I supposed to know! He looks like a girl!”

Sai leans against Ino to give the illusion that he’s whispering to her, but speaks loud enough to be purposefully heard, “He just can’t wrap his head around the fact that he thinks Shiro-nii-san is pretty.”

Toshiro puts a hand over his mouth when Kiba lunges at Sai, only for Ino to shriek and sock him across the face. They go tumbling into the grass, play fighting while Akamaru barks around them nervously. 

Sai blinks. “Thanks for defending my honor.”

“I don’t know if that’s how you use that phrase.” Gin mutters, and Shikamaru sighs loudly. The group looks half-humored, half-exasperated. The Hatake puppies have now joined Akamaru in excitedly dancing around the wrestling duo, and Sakura is cheering loudly for Ino. 

“Shiro-nii, don’t listen to Kibaka!” Naruto exclaims, all sunshine and vehemence. He grips Toshiro’s hand with childish certainty. “Guys can be pretty too, ya know!”

“Thank you, Naruto.” His voice wavers when he replies. It’s incredibly hard to hold back his laughter in the face of Naruto’s earnest expression. “It’s okay though, I wasn’t too worried. A little surprised his nose didn’t tell him, though.”

“It’s because you smell like the hospital more than anything, nii-san.” Kojika explains, picking up her happy little sesame puppy, Rin.

“Yeah,” Haruki rubs under his nose, “Especially after you finish a shift. It’s easier to just tone down the senses than get the full brunt of that nasty rubbing alcohol scent.”

Well, that’s something. Maybe he should try showering at the hospital before coming home. It’s what he does after shifts that take over twenty-four hours, so it’s not like it’ll be a new experience. He usually forgoes it on short shifts because he’d rather just get home and be comfortable. But if it’s really bothering the Hatake kids…

“Hm.” He mutters to himself. _There’s probably some heavy duty scent-blocking seals I could pick up._

The thing about his current scent-blocking seals is that they’re for blocking scents coming _off_ his body. Scents that he picks up while wandering through the day can still cling to his clothes, including all the nastiness that comes with spending many hours at the hospital. In that way, it generally _aids_ an active shinobi by letting their clothes take on the scent of the surrounding terrain while on missions, thus covering any possible sensory blindspots that could be seen (or in this case, smelled) as suspicious. 

Most of his lounge wear at the house doesn’t have the seals, because while they aren’t especially expensive — they’re far too integral and mainstream for that — it seems a waste when in the safety of his own home. And the Hatake _like_ having their natural scents all over each other. They’re very… dog-like in that way. 

Toshiro isn’t oblivious to the way Kakashi leads with his nose. Or the way he’ll dip his head to catch the scent of one of the kids or Toshiro. The man had once frozen on the street, stood to attention with his head in the air like a bloodhound — before disappearing in a poof of smoke just as Gai appeared, a challenge on his lips. 

It’s just a fact of life Toshiro has had to get used to. 

(He’d also woken up a few weeks ago with Kakashi’s bare nose pressed to his neck after they fell asleep together. That had been....a thing.)

“Well,” he claps, breaking out of his thoughts. “Who wants a snack? Yukimura-sensei dropped some food off while you were at the academy.”

“YES!” Touma screams, bolting past Toshiro and into the house. “TAKOYAKI!”

Kiba, in a mildly shocking display when considering his personality, actually follows last, nose in the air as he scents the place. Toshiro assumes it has to do with some kind of dog...thing. The boy _is_ essentially entering the domain of another alpha. 

_Maybe I should have talked to Kakashi about this…._ Because while Toshiro doesn’t see any harm in letting the Inuzuka in, it could actually be a problem. Maybe? Again, _dog thing._ Though they _are_ technically allies, seeing as they’re all Konoha nin…

_Note to self, learn more about dog things._

He wishes he had one of his little sticky note pads on him. 

Ah, well. He’ll deal with any possible repercussions later. The Hatake Clan Head is fine with the Uchiha wandering in and out, and most of them are tied to the _cat_ contract. 

He startles when he hears something break in the kitchen. “Wait a second, kids! Only a little, don’t ruin your appetite!”

* * *

_Pink._

Kakashi stares straight ahead. He doesn’t move — no, that’s not good. Act natural. His gaze slips to the side without his permission. _Ah._

Through the onsen steam and murky waters, Toshiro looks like an otherworldly painting. His long, pale gold hair is piled up high on his head, loose strands sticking to his cheeks and neck. Water drips down flushed skin, damp and shining. He’s slick with steam and sweat. Pink eyes are shut, head tilted back against the rocks. Toshiro looks completely and utterly relaxed.

_And naked._

(Even if Kakashi can’t see anything through the water, nor had he peeked when the other man first got in, because it made him feel way too dirty at just the thought of trying.)

Kakashi swallows. This was an awful idea. Absolutely dreadful. He should have never agreed to visiting the springs, even if Toshiro had looked so earnest and excited, having never been before. He should’ve put his foot down or lied out of his ass, made up some kind of mission or just plain said _nah, I don’t feel like it._ Instead he’s here, tortured, trying not to look at Toshiro’s wet, pinkened skin and _pink nipples because Holy Sage he was so cute._

Everything about Toshiro is cute. 

(Kakashi might be biased. Or a hypocrite? He wants everyone to acknowledge that Toshiro is cute, but also wants to gut anyone who dares admit it.)

Toshiro’s eyes crack open. His cheeks flush a darker red, chin tilting down as his teeth briefly play with his bottom lip. “You’re staring, Kakashi-kun.”

“You look relaxed.” Kakashi says with all the nonchalance he doesn’t feel. “Didn’t realize how tense you were.”

“Yeah,” Toshiro sighs, rubbing one of his shoulders. “Who knew being a shinobi was stressful?”

Kakashi’s lips twitch under his face towel. “Yeah, that cushy desk job must really be hell on your back.”

Those pink — Sage, everything was pink and gold — eyes narrow playfully, no real heat to them. “You want to trade places, is that what I’m hearing?”

“No, no, I’m sure you’ve got everything under control. Really.” With their easy banter, Kakashi can almost pretend they aren’t naked and less than three feet apart. Almost.

Toshiro smirks, an expression that wouldn’t look out of place in the Uchiha compound. “Please, I’d like to see you suffer a single day behind a desk. You wouldn’t last five minutes.”

If Kakashi had his book — he’d never risk Icha Icha with all this water — he’d take this opportunity to flip a page while appearing casually disinterested. “Hm.”

It’s probably true.

“By the way, I think Sai wants to visit the Aburame Compound.” 

Kakashi blinks at the conversation change, “Oh? When did he get so chummy with the heir?” Unless the kid _has_ mentioned something, and Kakashi missed it. Which. He might have, to be fair. 

Toshiro levels him with a vaguely unimpressed look. _Ah._ “Sai talks about him on occasion, and usually talks briefly with the boy before leaving the Academy for the day. You’d know if you came to pick them up.”

There’s something else hanging there, unspoken and heavy in the steamy air. Kakashi feels a frown on his mouth. It’s not that he doesn’t _like_ the kids. He does. They’re his pack. But Kakashi still has no idea how to deal with children, even prodigious ones. Handling the kids from a distance works best for him, because then he’s less liable to screw up _them_ or just in general. Of course, that means he’s shunted off all his actual child-rearing duties onto Toshiro, who _isn’t_ a Hatake Clan member. All Kakashi does is provide Clan training and the occasional awkward word of advice. He’s _present,_ obviously. But not in the way Toshiro is.

The children don’t turn to him for advice. They don’t seek him out when they’re scared or have questions or even just to show him something cool they found. 

They look to him for training and adhere to his word because he’s their Clan Head and they still carry some measure of discipline from their time with Danzo. Kakashi fits well into the older brother slot with his distant-but-not- _too-_ distant attitude. But Toshiro? He’s a full blown mother-father package. Exactly what these kids need. Kakashi hasn’t the slightest clue in how to compete or even match. 

“You’re not going to ruin them, Kakashi-kun.”

He sighs, “Stop reading my mind. _I’m_ the one with the sharingan.”

“Can’t help it,” Toshiro replies, his smile delightfully soft. “I know you too well.”

 _Sage, I hope not._ Is all Kakashi can think, because he doesn’t know what he’ll do if his perverted thoughts are obvious enough to read. 

“I’m just saying, it wouldn’t hurt to get a bit more involved in their lives.” The man continues, water rippling around him as he shifts a little. “You’re going to blink and they’ll all be moved into their own houses. Then where will you be?”

 _Regretful._

The word smacks him quite sharply across the face. This conversation is officially too deep and depressing for their current situation of hot, sweaty nakedness. They’re even the only ones in the men’s side — _the perfect luck_ — and the kids are all still at the Academy. It’s just them. Alone. Just like one of the scenes in Icha Icha.

_And we’re talking about “feelings.”_

“I get it.” He finally settles on saying, because in all honesty he does. Even if he doesn’t want to utter the truth of the matter. _Regret_ is perhaps his biggest fear. There’s already too much of it weighing him down, even as he slowly trudges down the path of healing. 

“Besides,” Toshiro mumbles, suddenly looking _very_ red and bashful, his gaze avoiding Kakashi’s. “The Academy instructors have been referring to me as _Hatake-sama,_ as I’m the one who shows up and signs all the documents.”

Kakashi promptly chokes on absolutely nothing but his own gay thoughts.

* * *

Hatake Toshiro doesn’t sound so bad.

* * *

Week three hits and Shisui still isn’t back. That’s not always cause for immediate worry. Things happen all the time, and missions that require a bit of travel always have looser dates. But _shunshin no Shisui_ has no problem in the speed department. All Toshiro can think about are the many, many different ways the man could possibly be dead in a ditch right now. 

_Maybe it was too soon to go back into the field._

It was Shisui’s first mission since the incident with Danzo two years ago. There had been a slow recovery process, then the man was forced to retrain himself _entirely_ because of his new handicap. Having one eye meant a huge _literal_ blind spot and issues with depth perception. All very big problems for an active shinobi of Shisui’s caliber. The kind of missions he usually went on before all this were the ones where the slightest mistake could lead to his death. Mistakes were far too easy to make when you made the wrong call about how close or far your enemy was. 

Obviously the man didn’t go on an S-ranked mission, that wasn’t very fitting for his slow return to work. No, Shisui was on a basic B-rank retrieval mission. For what, Toshiro wasn’t privy to and didn’t ask. 

Now he kind of wishes he did, in the hopes it might have assuaged his current worries a little. Hoshika has been visiting pretty frequently over the three weeks, and when they hit day two past the time Shisui was supposed to be back, she’d just taken to sleeping on their couch.

Kakashi didn’t say anything. 

Toshiro is pretty sure she doesn’t want to spend time with any family members pressuring her for answers about what could possibly be happening to her boyfriend. At least with him, he’s equally as worried and unwilling to speculate out loud. The kids and dogs provide a good distraction, too.

“He’s never been late before.” She says one night, “Always been too _good,_ being a shitty little prodigy ‘n all.”

It’s day five past the set return date.

Toshiro doesn’t have the words to soothe her.

On the third day of week four, Uchiha Shisui comes home. His familiar chakra signature flares, startling everyone in the house, before he appears at the front door. There’s no time to react before he slams it open without waiting for someone to let him in.

Hoshika drops the bowl of soggy cereal she’d been holding, the milk splattering across the floorboards. 

Shisui is missing most of his jounin jacket and his clothes are torn, bloody and singed. He’s missing one sandal and dripping crimson on the already milk-wet wood. Exhaustion lines every part of him, a vivid bruise is painted across his jaw and his eyes are glassy with lack of sleep. 

They collide soundlessy, and Kakashi urges the kids out of the kitchen quickly. Toshiro can barely breathe. Shisui grips Hoshika like he’s a dying man, sinking all his weight into her tall, lithe frame and she holds steadfast. Her arms are wrapped around him in return, her fists clenched in the remnants of his tattered jounin vest. 

He kisses her. “I beat the shit out of Orochimaru.”

Then he kisses her again before she can even comment.

Toshiro does not have that same restriction. “You did _what!?”_

“Oh,” Shisui pulls away, blinking hazily. “Yeah. That happened. Hey, can you tenderly repair me, Shiro-chan? I think every one of my ribs is broken and I can’t feel my left big toe. You won’t have to amputate it, right? I like my toe.”

“Hospital, _now.”_

“Ergh, can’t we just do it here?” The half-loopy Uchiha protests. 

Hoshika swiftly picks up all _nearly six feet_ of her boyfriend in a bridal carry. “We’re going.”

“Ohhh, Hoshi-chan!” Shisui laughs as they leave, “You’re so stroooong!”

“Oh my Sage, he’s poisoned.” Toshiro whispers. “Or _concussed.”_

This earns him a grim look from Hoshika, “Shiro, this is exactly how he normally acts and you know it.”

That’s...true. It doesn’t make him any less worried. To Shisui, he mutters, “You are in a world of trouble, mister.”

“Sorry,” the man in question replies, flashing them a very tired grin, “But you should see the other guy.”

* * *

Toshiro doesn’t exactly have the clearance level to listen in on missions that enter S-Rank territory, which is exactly what Shisui’s had become once the snake sannin had come out of the woodworks to attack. From what he _is_ told, the nukenin had been after Shisui’s _body._ For his eye? Or genetics in general. The actual reasoning was a bit fuzzy. Either way, one eye or not, Shisui still had a _mangekyou,_ a genius level intellect and skill set, and some other wacky Uchiha powers that Toshiro probably wasn’t supposed to know about. 

In the end Orochimaru had escaped. As much as Toshiro hates the man, he hardly cares about that now after knowing how hard it must have been for Shisui to just get _home._ The only good thing to come out of this was Shisui confirming that he dealt _heavy_ damage to the snake, enough that he would face some serious repercussions. Oh, _and_ apparently the snake was interested in obtaining _more_ Uchiha. 

For another eye.

“It was really rude, actually.” Shisui mutters. “He wants me for my body but can’t accept my single eye? Talk about being ableist.”

Toshiro very carefully does _not_ roll his eyes up to the ceiling. Hoshika doesn’t have the same compunction. Of course the Uchiha has bounced right back from almost being murdered _again_ over his damn pinwheel eyeballs. At this rate, it probably would’ve been better to have kept the whole thing a secret. (A little hard to do if you used them in battle, but…)

It almost seemed like they were a little more trouble than they were worth. Then again, Toshiro wasn’t an Uchiha, so he didn’t really know.

“I have to meet with Itachi now, so don’t do anything stupid.” He meets Hoshika’s eyes. “Again.”

She smirks in return when Shisui complains about them ganging up on him again. Toshiro leaves them, walking out of the seal-heavy hospital room and down the hall to another. He swipes a bitten thumb across the seal on the side of the door, watching as the smear of blood steams and evaporates against the kanji, the chakra infused blood powering the _unlock_ order. Itachi waits inside, as stoic and patient as ever. 

“How is Shisui?” The Godaime asks before Toshiro can even open his mouth.

He grins wryly as he approaches the man and prepares for the usual process, “Cracking jokes already.”

Itachi manages something of a smile at that. “I’m glad. Less enthused about Orochimaru’s intentions.” He remains motionless as the med-nin checks his basic vitals with a diagnostic jutsu before beginning the procedure.

“You and me both,” Toshiro sets to expelling the correct mix of yin and yang chakra, free of any one nature. It condenses visibly around his hands, green and glowing. The healing chakra seeps into Itachi’s chest, repairing a bit of wear on the lung tissue and clearing a slight build-up of mucus. Itachi’s body produces very few of the AAT proteins, but the count is not _zero._ It helps pinpoint the site of production and lets Toshiro increase it. It would be a different story if Itachi had none at all, and therefore no cells for Toshiro to replicate. Then they’d just have to go a different route — the transfusion kind. Which is much more tedious and not something easily hidden, unfortunately.

So. _Lucky._ A few more sessions and Itachi will quite easily be able to do this on his own. With each check-up, he learns a little more about the process and gets a little better at understanding it. His sharingan remains on the entire time, _every time._ All to assess how the chakra moves. Toshiro has also been giving his esteemed Hokage assigned readings and practice instructions. 

_Those poor fish._

At least Itachi moved on from _blowing them up_ years ago.

“Sandaime-sama is...weary, but understanding of my intent to resume pursuit of Orochimaru.” Itachi admits quietly, still watching Toshiro’s hands carefully. “What would you have done, had you been him? Had it been your student?”

Toshiro already knows his answer, because he’s thought the very same question late at night after reading Danzo’s and Orochimaru’s disgusting notes. “I would have killed them myself. I understand love — and what Sandaime-sama feels for his former student is most certainly that — but I also understand _exactly_ what kind of activities Orochimaru has been up to. Maybe I’d always love my student, like Sandaime-sama, but I can’t let that love be greater than the crimes committed. I’d never be able to live with myself.”

A slight furrow appears between Itachi’s brows, his contemplative expression slightly twisting the thin scar that slices through one of them. “I as well.”

 _Which is why we will never understand the decisions Sandaime-sama made._ Toshiro thinks, and knows that the younger man echoes it. 

He pulls his hands away from Itachi’s chest, letting the chakra fade from his hands. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” The young Hokage takes quick stock of himself, “Better. Thank you, sensei.”

Toshiro huffs in amusement, “Don’t mention it. You aren’t in a rush to get back to all that paperwork, are you?”

Itachi’s expressions flattens, which is an answer all on its own. 

“Go visit your cousin and future cousin-in-law.” Toshiro chuckles, “I’m sure he’s already driving Hoshika up the wall.”

With a slight nod, Itachi makes to leave the room, his steps soundless. Toshiro sighs into the now empty space, hands on his hips. He feels the weight of exhaustion deep in his bones. The effects of the recent trip to that onsen are long gone. Maybe another visit is due...

The image of a shirtless Kakashi flashes through his mind. Toshiro feels his mouth go dry when he recalls the expanse of pale, scarred skin and rippling muscle. Kakashi isn’t bulky, he’s lithe and streamlined — built for speed and stealth. The perfect hunter. _Slight_ next to someone like Gai, who’s built like a brick house, but nowhere near _thin._ Nowhere near _dainty._ Toshiro is certain he might have drooled when Kakashi had reached up to wash that silver mop of hair and his biceps had _bulged._ Flushing terribly, Toshiro presses his hands to hot cheeks and wills himself to calm down.

On second thought, maybe the onsen isn’t good for his health.

* * *

Toshiro knows that the kids are all friends. He _knows_ that Sakura has been improving leaps and bounds after he’d taken her under his wing. It’s _still_ shocking to walk into _Hatakata’s_ , a shinobi supply store, to see Sasuke pulling items off the shelves and explaining in great detail what each one is and does to a heavily blushing Sakura. 

He doesn’t know _how_ it got to the point where the two of them hung out _by themselves._ Faintly, Toshiro realizes that _oh no, I know what’s going on._ Sasuke sees Sakura as a _project._ A habit he’s likely gotten from watching Toshiro and Itachi. He’s seen something that can be better and then _did something about it._ And Toshiro can’t even scold him for it. 

(It’s not like he’s doing any harm, and it’s probably improving Sakura’s survival chances in the shinobi world.)

Sasuke takes a naginata off the wall.

Toshiro very deftly plucks it from the eleven year old’s hands. “Let’s not touch the sharp blades that aren’t yours until you become genin, deal?”

“Toshi-sensei!” Sasuke exclaims, startled. He flushes a deep red after glancing at Sakura. “What are you doing here?”

_How cute, he’s embarrassed at being caught doing something nice._

“Picking up a fresh spool of ninja wire.” He explains. “One of my sets has a bit of rust damage. Happens more than I’d like because of my water nature.”

“Why not use seals to prevent water damage?” Sakura inquires, finding her voice even though her cheeks are still cherry red. 

“Well,” he raises an amused eyebrow, “Do you think you could get a seal on something as thin as a strand of hair?” His tone is lightly teasing, so as not to embarrass her. Her emotional state is still pretty iffy and that last thing he wants is for her to think that _he_ thinks she’s an idiot. 

Especially when she’s not.

“Ah.” Luckily the girl just makes a sound of realization.

Ninja wire is exceedingly thin and tricky to spot, making it useful for traps. It also has to be made from a loose, flexible metal that unfortunately sustains damage over time or due to the type of usage it faced. You can’t exactly be picky. _Yet._ With time, Toshiro is sure someone will come up with _something_ to improve it. 

(Weapons are always made bigger, better and badder, after all. Humanity loves violence far too much.)

“What’re you two in here for?” At the question, both kids re-adopt their embarrassed expressions for different reasons. _Still so easy to read._

“I’m familiarizing Sakura with the kinds of items each shinobi store carries.” Sasuke grumbles, lips falling into the pout he refuses to admit he ever does. “She needs some extra help since the academy reforms won’t be as effective for older students that are near graduating age.”

Sasuke is right, because the reforms affect each year and create a whole new system of education. The ones who would reap the benefits of all of it were the youngest. The next few years of graduates might need a little help and be short _many_ civilian-born hopefuls who didn’t make the cut, but eventually the cycle would right itself.

Had to start somewhere, after all.

“Good point, Sasuke.” 

The boy poorly hides a smile at the praise.

“Um, Sensei?” Sakura interrupts nervously. “I actually had a question...do you think you could train me in medical ninjutsu?”

Toshiro blinks, “Oh? Decided to take me up on my offer, then?”

Sakura nods, her green eyes wide and earnest. “I want to be able to help my friends as well as protect them.”

His gaze flickers to Sasuke, who’s watching Sakura with an almost unreadable expression. The kid has definitely been emulating Itachi lately, it’s kind of cute. (Toshiro always finds the kids cute though, so maybe he’s just being biased.) It’s not a bad look. There’s almost a hint of approval.

“Sure thing, Sakura-chan. But it’ll be hard work, so be prepared. And I won’t start formal training until you’re a genin. Even then I’ll have to talk to your jounin sensei about it.”

“I understand.” She nods, sighing. A bit of her excitement drains away at the mention of a wait time. He can’t really blame her. Sitting around when there’s something you want to do is like torture...it’s probably why Toshiro ended up here, on this path of revolution.

Toshiro buys his new spool of ninja wire. The kids stay a little longer, Sasuke still directing Sakura through the store. They wave when he leaves and he sends them one back.

They’re an unlikely pair, but Toshiro can’t help but think that they actually make rather good friends. _Maybe they’ll even end up on the same team._

He tries not to think too hard on the fact that their graduation is just over a year away. It feels like just yesterday they were seven or eight and still tripping over themselves. _Ah, how time flies._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really struggled with this chapter lmao,,, it's like,,, i feel like im writing filler bc i cant jump straight into certain plot points without making it seem rushed??? and it's exhaus ti ng ,, BUT ALSO HEY I LOVE THE KIDS. as for the timeline, it's currently mid-october, naruto's birthday was recent and they made him a lil cake and he cried all over everyone


	19. camellia seeds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am soft and so are they.... . ... . . p h e w

“I’ve chosen the graduating teams.” Itachi announces quietly, his palms lit with green chakra. They’re in the Uchiha Compound, in a house Itachi has claimed as his own. Apparently being nearly seventeen means he’s too old to live with his parents. Or it could be that it’s embarrassing for a Hokage to still live in his childhood bedroom. Either way, Itachi had chosen a nice home close to the Clan Head’s house. Shisui lives just a few blocks over. The Clan used to radiate out from the center — the center being the Uchiha Main House — and the closer in relation you were to the Main Line, the closer to lived to them. The more distant Uchiha relatives lived on the outskirts. They were also the ones who made up the bulk of the civilian Uchiha population, and any who did become ninja almost  _ never _ unlocked their sharingan. 

Now, housing opportunities were vast and changing. It wasn’t very smart, having all the Uchiha that carried the most ‘potent’ blood in one area. They couldn’t force people to move out of their homes, but now Uchiha weren’t roadblocked into certain areas. The Compound would be far more diverse in the future, however long away.

“Did you?” Toshiro doesn’t take his eyes off of Itachi’s hands. It’s the first time the man is attempting to promote his own protein production and Toshiro is here for observation. He’ll be sitting in a few more times before approving Itachi’s ability to care for himself. The young Hokage’s news isn’t surprising, graduation is only some weeks away. 

That would mean he’s picked out the genin team for Chiasa.

“Would you like to know?” 

Toshiro blinks, tempted to look up and see what kind of micro-expression is on Itachi’s face. He’s curious, obviously, about who Itachi has chosen for Chiasa, and about what kind of team she’s expected to be part of. Tracking? Intelligence gathering? The pre-ANBU trainee squad? She certainly had the skillset for that.

And yet…

“No,” He replies, “I think I want to hear it from Chiasa, first.”

Despite how reserved she is, there is no doubt in his mind she’ll be excited to tell him. He  _ wants _ to be surprised.  _ Then _ he can go to Itachi to get the details about what is expected of her squad. (If he can’t figure it out himself.)

It wasn’t something genin knew — the fact that they were purposefully lumped together in squads for a specific intent. That didn’t mean they couldn’t figure it out, but most were made aware of the way the academy  _ actually _ worked once they hit high chuunin. Although the whole genin team thing was only relevant for those who  _ made it _ onto a team. People like Itachi and Kakashi, who blazed through the curriculum and secured positions too high for their age group, ended up shuffled around as an extra piece in various teams. Filling in gaps. Being apprenticed to random Jounin with time on their hands. The problem with that was they ended up without much in the way of social or teamworking skills. 

Luckily, Itachi seems remarkably well-rounded despite all that. Kakashi...is getting there.

Itachi makes a sound of affirmation.

“Now,” Toshiro grins when Itachi’s hands finally cease their glowing. “Lemme check you over and see how well you did.”

* * *

Chiasa comes home late in the evening on the day of her team selection. There’s mud in her strawberry-blonde hair and a thoughtful look in her crystal eyes. Her siblings bombard her the second she steps in the door. The puppies bounce around the group and the house becomes a den of noise, voices and barks overlapping each other.

“Who’d you get, who’d you get?” Touma asks, clinging to her side. His curly black hair only  _ just  _ touches her chin. 

Haruki bounces on his toes, “Is your jounin sensei cool?”

“Did you get that cute boy on your team?” Kojika asks, cheeks flushed red and little Rin in her arms, the calmest of all the puppies. 

“Did she get  _ what?” _ Gin exclaims.

“Hey, hey!” Toshiro raises his voice over the din, quickly quieting the kids. “She can’t answer if you keep talking over her.”

They all sheepishly back off, though Touma and Takehiko cling to her sides and don’t look like they plan on moving. Chiasa rests a hand on each of their backs, making no attempt to dislodge her little brothers. 

“Nara Tsushika and Hyuuga Atsuzumi.” She says after a pause. Tsushika is her friend, so Toshiro isn’t worried much about that — it’s the other person. Hyuuga-kun. The boy that Toshiro had almost entirely forgotten about. Over a year ago, almost two at this point, Chiasa had punched that kid into the ground for insulting Itachi. 

_ Oh boy. _

Chiasa doesn’t look particularly bothered. She’d looked  _ contemplative _ upon entering the house, in the short second Toshiro had witnessed her before she’d been bombarded by her siblings. Something must have happened during the test that her jounin sensei put them through.

“My jounin sensei is Uzuki Yugao-san.”

Toshiro isn’t sure he recognizes that name, but Kakashi perks up a little. Not enough for the kids to notice, but little seems to escape Toshiro when it comes to the silver-haired man. It’s actually a little embarrassing, how often he’s found himself just... _ staring _ at the other. The soft, gooey feeling of attraction and adoration in his chest has only expanded with time. He knows he’s pining.  _ He knows. _ But with that pining and desperate fervor comes the fear of rejection.

“You should bring them around sometime.” Toshiro prompts, “Team bonding is very important.”

“Of course.” Chiasa nods, expression blandly serious. 

The kids move back into the kitchen, chairs scraping across the wood floors as they all reseat themselves. Conversations about their day pick back up again as they resume eating. Today’s dinner is curry — Toshiro made it himself, which is a feat all on its own. He’s improved his cooking skills, but actually having the results in front of him is exciting. 

When they start cleaning up for the night, he catches Kakashi approaching Chiasa out of the corner of his eye. The man is still awkward, but he  _ tries. _ He’s even taken to sitting out with the kids rather than hiding away in his room or disappearing for hours. 

Kakashi puts a hand on Chiasa’s head, his dark eye soft. Gently, he ruffles her hair and she lets him. “Don’t grow up too fast,” he murmurs, “Cherish your team.”

“I know,” she replies, her eyes alight with the same kind of intensity as her silver haired guardian, “I’ll never abandon my comrades.”

Kakashi’s eye squints into a half-moon shape, “Then you’re already a shinobi I’m proud to know.”

With one final pat, he lets her go.

Toshiro turns away before he drops a dish, heart in his throat. He wonders if his eyes are as misty as Chiasa’s had been in that moment, before she’d turned to run after her siblings. He clears his throat.

“Didn’t take you for a cry baby.” 

Kakashi’s voice in his ear startles him enough that the traitorous wet dish slips through his fingers. It never ends up clattering into the sink, Kakashi’s deft, lightning scarred hand appearing in a flash to catch it. The motion leaves him half pressed against Toshiro, the slightly too-hot heat of his body seeping through the thin yukata Toshiro wears. 

“I’m not crying,” he laughs, feeling his cheeks flush at their proximity. The racing of his heart does nothing to deter him from pressing back against Kakashi, smiling up at the man from under his pale gold lashes. “I was merely overwhelmed at how cute that was.”

Kakashi sighs, his single eye narrowing in amusement.

“That adorable scene aside,” He takes the dish from Kakashi’s hand, doing his best to continue as normal even though the taller man has yet to pull away. If anything he seems rather content to stay plastered against Toshiro’s back. “Uzuki-san. You know them?”

“Her,” Kakashi replies after a second. His hands settle on Toshiro’s hips. “She’s...an old comrade who’s proficient in kenjutsu, as well as a good all-rounder and chakra sensor. We’ve worked together quite a bit. She’ll make a good sensei for Chiasa and the other two little monsters.”

Toshiro is pretty sure  _ old comrade _ is code for  _ ANBU. _ It’s not a stretch, as Kakashi had been pretty heavily wrapped up in the shadow squad when they’d first met. That probably meant that Chiasa and her team were selected to be pre-ANBU, or at least potentially.  _ A Hatake, Hyuuga and Nara. _ If that wasn’t a recipe for a hunting or tactical assassination squad, Toshiro would eat his sandals. 

“Well, at least it’s not Shisui.”  _ Message received.  _

Kakashi chuckles and Toshiro feels the sound against his back, rumbling in Kakashi’s chest. “Not yet, anyway.”

Toshiro wants to laugh. He wants to crack a joke and keep the conversation flowing like any normal person — except his pulse thuds too loudly for words to ever escape his suddenly dry throat. The flush on his cheeks is darkening, he can just  _ tell, _ can feel the heat on his own freckled cheeks making its way up to his ears. He wants to ask what made Kakashi so clingy, wants to say something cute like  _ you’re in a huggy mood today, huh? _ Except then it might just draw unneeded attention to the fact, and Kakashi would pull away. 

And Toshiro, heart in his mouth and fingers shaking with adrenaline, doesn’t want the man to move. The fingers on his hips suddenly tighten, firm enough that anymore pressure might risk marks. There’s a ticklish sensation — Kakashi’s nose trailing down his neck, the fabric of the mask lightly scraping the heated, fragile skin. 

Toshiro drops a bowl this time, and it clatters loudly in the sink.

Kakashi leaps back like he’s been electrified — funny, with  _ his _ chakra nature. Toshiro instinctively slaps a hand over his neck, the sensation still crawling languidly over his flesh. He half turns, unsure of what expression is on his face and unable completely to make out the one on Kakashi’s. The man stands almost entirely on the other side of the room, the pale, visible skin around his eye and across his cheekbone is cherry red. His dark eye looks like a burning coal — flashing hot and...guilty. Scarred hands are held tightly in fists at his sides. 

“Sorry.” He mutters, his entire body tense.

Toshiro knows the man is one second from fleeing. Because when things get too emotional, too tough —  _ Kakashi runs. _ The silver-haired copy nin could sit through days of physical discomfort, but the  _ second _ it hit emotional? Gone.

“It’s okay.” He manages to get out quickly, not even entirely sure what the man is apologizing for. “I liked it.”

Okay, that wasn’t what he really meant to say. At all. 

“I-I mean, I like you. Close. I like you close.” Wait, that’s worse. What the hell had Kakashi done, to make Toshiro lose his cool this much!? The man holds him in his arms  _ once _ and Toshiro loses the ability to filter his thoughts?

_ Dangerous. _

“Urhgh.” He groans out unintelligibly, turning back to the sink and hiding his completely crimson face.

Kakashi makes a sound that’s a cross between a clearing of his throat and a slightly hysterical laugh. “Oh.”

“Sorry,” Toshiro mutters, echoing Kakashi’s apology, unspecified reason and all. 

“It’s okay.” The man replies, tone strained with the forceful attempt to lighten it. “I like it too.”

They both fall awkwardly silent, the only sound being the chirp of cicadas through the windows and the drip of water against the steel sink. Toshiro swallows heavily and wonders why he’s sweating. This is just another step in their relationship. He refuses to be defeated by this!

“That’s...good. Now help me with the dishes, I’m not your wife.” 

There’s only a few left, but he starts on them with a scary sort of anticipation in his chest, ears strained for any kind of sound. He knows he’ll only notice if Kakashi  _ lets  _ himself be heard, and soon the soft steps of his approach are distinguishable over the resumption of the water tap. Toshiro feels butterflies in his gut when Kakashi’s elbow brushes his own, and the man begins to dry the dishes as Toshiro washes. 

The best approach for this kind of thing would be...forwardness? What is he even doing, anyway? Had Kakashi meant it in a friendly way? It was hard to tell sometimes, with someone as closed off and stunted as the Copy Nin. The man could take a joke, could probably handle being flirted with — so what did Toshiro really have to lose? At the very least, it would hopefully break the weird, awkward air around them that Toshiro wanted no part in.

He thinks of the last thing he’d said.

A smirk curls across his lips, out of place against his flushed, embarrassed skin and fluttering lashes. He brushes his arm a little more deliberately against Kakashi’s, waiting a second for their gazes to meet. “Yet.”

Kakashi drops the half-dry dish in his hands, and it shatters against the counter.

* * *

“What does pre-ANBU mean, specifically?” 

It’s a question Toshiro doesn’t have any right to ask, truthfully. But he’s trying his luck anyway... _ and _ maybe using his relationship with Itachi to his advantage. Not something he plans on doing a lot, but the idea of any of the kids in  _ ANBU _ isn’t exactly filling him with the warm and fuzzies. 

The Hokage’s office is balmy, all the windows open to allow a breeze in. It’s not much of a safety hazard when seals prevent any sound from escaping — or any projectiles from entering. Only the living were allowed in, which meant you had to bodily enter the window, and by then the ANBU guards would have you in pieces. 

Summer is just a few weeks away. 

Itachi doesn’t glance up from his work, pen dancing across an official looking document. Even busy, he’d still allowed Toshiro to enter and ask his questions. Toshiro will not take that for granted or abuse it — he won’t twist the trust they have. (And he  _ never _ wants to feel a likeness to  _ Danzo.) _

“As you live with Kakashi-san, I know he’s likely informed you of Uzuki-san’s occupation.” The Uchiha replies after a beat, still mostly concentrated on his work. “Once they become Chuunin, if they receive Uzuki-san’s recommendation they will have the option of joining our ANBU forces. It isn’t a requirement, Toshiro. They can say no.”

“I was never worried about that.” Not with someone like Itachi as Hokage. “I suppose I just wasn’t sure if they’d be pushed into ANBU immediately. I’m afraid I don’t know much about ANBU, even though I live with a previous member. It’s not really smart to make a conversation out of the topic.”

Itachi nods, “You’re correct. Secrecy is of the highest importance when concerning ANBU. For the safety of both the members and the village’s reputation. The kids scouted into pre-ANBU teams exhibit talents we believe would be useful in black ops. They generally have a skill that places them beyond their peers, so they’re placed with former ANBU members to further their abilities. While it’s true that almost all pre-ANBU teams proceed into ANBU, it’s not required. If Chiasa-kun wants to pursue another path, that’s up to her. As it is, the cover for her squad is  _ tracking and tactics.  _ Both of which she excels at with her current skill set. It would not be hard to find her a place in any division she pursues.”

Finally, Toshiro feels himself relax. He’s already seen what ANBU can do to a person. Kakashi had a lot of outlying factors that lead to his… issues. But ANBU certainly didn’t help them, and probably added some. Still, it wasn’t up to him if Chiasa decided to continue on into the black ops unit. He supposes he’ll have to live with that eventuality. 

Suitably informed and in a good mood, he can’t help but grin and tease his younger friend, “You know, that boy you placed on her team is the one she beat up in your honor.”

Itachi’s lips twitch.

* * *

  
  


Kakashi is at the end of his rope. The rope is also beginning to fray  _ very badly. _ He’s perched on literal threads, all of the weak little fibers threatening to snap. Toshiro touches him a lot more. Casually. Just the brush of arms, a hand through Kakashi’s hair, running fingers against his side or across his hands. It’s driving Kakashi  _ crazy. _ He feels alight with uncontainable energy, but has no  _ outlet _ for said energy. It makes him jittery and nervous, because clearly the increase in contact means that Toshiro is more comfortable with  _ Kakashi, _ but that doesn’t really outline  _ how much he’s comfortable with. _ Like, can Kakashi hold him from behind again? Can he loop their arms together? Kiss him? Pin him to every available surface and have his way? 

There are probably lines somewhere, but Kakashi can’t see them and he’s too much of a coward to ask. Toshiro, on the other hand, is respectful, even in his teasing. He reads Kakashi like a book, always careful to never touch too much or too long when Kakashi really doesn’t want to be. It’s as if he has access to some kind of Kakashi rulebook, outlining everything he needs to make sure he doesn’t do anything that will cause some kind of rejection by Kakashi. 

And Kakashi is  _ jealous. _ He  _ wishes _ he had the ability to tell when what he  _ wanted to do  _ would be acceptable and when it wasn’t. 

He’s still a little discombobulated from that  _ wife _ comment a few days ago. All he’s been thinking about is Toshiro. Married.

To him.

And Kakashi has never in his life  _ actively _ thought about marriage. Not really. Sure, there was a brief thought (mostly panic) when he was far younger, because clans were generally encouraged to produce heirs. But that had been stamped out pretty quick. He was the last Hatake. Konoha had been content to let the clan fade into obscurity — as had he.

Now he’s no longer the last Hatake. Maybe he’s the last one with  _ white chakra, _ but as it didn’t do much else there wasn’t a pressing need to pass it down. He has heirs. Kinda. One of the kids will have to pick up the slack and take over as Clan Head eventually. He wasn’t really sure  _ who  _ just yet. Logically, it would be Chiasa, as she’s the oldest. But Kakashi wouldn’t want to lump that kind of pressure on her — being a Clan Heir is….pretty sucky. At least from what he’s observed. 

They can pick and choose amongst themselves, he doesn’t really care. As long as it doesn’t get violent. (Not that he thinks it will.) There’s eight of them — er, well, only seven could potentially be the Clan Head (sorry Asuhi) — so at least  _ one _ of them will take the job.

He hopes.

“KAKASHI!” Gai’s hand smacks heavily against his shoulder, and Kakashi feels the energy from the blow practically shake his whole body. The bar they’re in is pretty crowded tonight. There’s a few more jounin around in the village now that the team placements happened, having been recalled from more active duty to take care of a team of brats. Kakashi doesn’t envy them. 

“Gai.” He replies dully.

Toshiro is a few tables away, having wandered over to  _ Uzuki Yugao _ after Kakashi pointed her out. Her dark purple hair was unmistakable, even in the lower lighting. It’s been more than ten minutes and Kakashi doesn’t think the other man is going to be done  _ mingling _ any time soon. Not now that Gekko Hayate is present — who Kakashi remembers Toshiro talking about sometime last month. Apparently the guy had been written off as a hopeless case and Toshiro, while stumbling through and organizing all the hospital’s paperwork, came across Hayate’s extensive medical files. 

_ Huh, _ it’s funny how the world works. Yugao had looked a little surprised and wary when Toshiro had first approached, but now she’s looking at him like he’s the second coming of the Sage.  _ I feel you there, Yugao. _ The three of them are getting along great. Even  _ Iruka _ is over at that table, and the Chuunin very rarely goes out to bars.

_ Must be glad for the break before the next year starts. _

This coming year was the _ final  _ year for almost every Clan Heir. That little gaggle of kids that always hung around the Compound would be graduating in a year's time. Chiasa might even be a Chuunin by then. 

He’s starting to feel old.

“I see your love really  _ has _ bloomed!” Gai exclaims, and Kakashi has never been happier for the volume of the surrounding patrons. 

He tips his head back against the booth, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Are you not together with the formidable Toshiro-sensei? The youthful energy between the two of you — YOUR BOND IS MUCH TO BE DESIRED, RIVAL!” Gai’s fist pumps the air during the last part of the sentence, his wide, dark eyes glimmering in the low lights. 

He could lie.

He could play it off as usual and get called out for being  _ hip and cool,  _ or end up receiving one of Gai’s  _ I know you better than you think  _ looks. Which weren’t really fun to experience and made Kakashi feel naked. Despite everything, Gai is still his oldest friend.

“I don’t know.” He admits. 

Gai hums, not looking particularly thrown at Kakashi’s answer. “I have never observed you like this before, my eternal rival. What Toshiro does to you is what water does for newly budding plants. I believe you have found someone to help you grow, Kakashi. So you must grasp that tremendous bond with both hands!”

Kakashi glances down at his pale, lightning scarred hands. Eyes the carefully clipped fingernails, the sheen of protective polish, the scars from kunai that run a little darker and straighter than the twirling, dancing lines of white left behind by a jutsu of his own creation. His fingers are long and calloused, his palms rough and square. They’re bloody hands.  _ They’re friend-killer hands. _

Toshiro slips into the booth on the other side of him, brushing their shoulders together. “Whatcha talking about that has you so gloomy?” As though without thought, his own scarred hand slips against Kakashi’s, hooking their pinkies together. 

Kakashi feels a thunderstorm in his chest. “Maa, just the  _ dancing around each other _ Genma and Raidou have started doing.” He lies, feeling Gai’s eyes boring into the side of his head. Kakashi ignores him, instead peering down into Toshiro’s pretty pink eyes. “It’s just getting a bit ridiculous to watch.”

Toshiro’s teeth dig momentarily into the plump flesh of his bottom lip. His cheeks are dusted pink, almost unseen in the dim bar. His normally ashy hair looks almost beige in the lighting. “Maybe Genma should just ask him out.”

Kakashi stares, transfixed as Toshiro’s lips quiver and form those near breathless words. His reply feels distant. “Maybe he should.”

“THE SIGHT OF YOU TWO FILLS ME WITH SUCH JOY! MY DEAR RIVAL, REMEMBER—” Gai interjects, breaking whatever mood had settled over Kakashi and Toshiro. He pats Kakashi’s shoulder rigorously with teary, proud eyes. It’s terrifying. “If you ever need assistance in understanding the beautiful dance of copulation that men partake in—”

Kakashi blanches at turns red all the way up to his silver roots.

Toshiro laughs, loud and long against Kakashi’s side, his slighter frame shaking with the force of it. “D-Don’t worry, Gai.” He smiles gently, a shoddy veneer of innocence. “I  _ am  _ a Medic Nin, after all.” Then the little minx coyly shifts his gaze back to Kakashi, bitten lip and fluttering eyelashes and all — “I’m sure I can help him understand.”

Kakashi thinks something in his brain short circuits. Their pinkies are still intertwined. Kakashi feels a warm heat in his gut, feels his head cloud over and his pulse knock against his bones. “I look forward to it.”

And it’s so worth the creeping anxiety to see that heady flush spread across Toshiro’s face, to see him duck and dig his teeth into his lip a little harder, a smile curling at the edges of his pretty mouth. Kakashi doesn’t know what they are. He doesn’t really know what’s happening at all. What he does know is that  _ flirting  _ is easy to recognize. He’s a shinobi, he  _ knows _ body language, he’s read every Icha Icha novel currently published and there’s some  _ raunchy pick up lines, sure. _ But there’s also subtle undertones and hints and all it’s done is help Kakashi understand even  _ more _ about how two people in love or in lust could interact with each other. 

Toshiro’s hand slips a little more against his own, dislodging their pinkies. Instead, he finds all their fingers intertwining, until their palms are pressed together and Kakashi thinks he can feel the fluttering of Toshiro’s pulse in his thin wrist.

Is this a promise? Is it still flirting?

_ Are you mine? _

He’s still too much of a coward to ask.

* * *

Toshiro slumps onto his bed and buries his face into his pillow.  _ What the hell. _

_ What the hell. What the hell. _

He swallows and rolls over, heart thudding in his chest so loudly he can feel it. Can hear it. Filling the silence of the room and banging against his ribcage. He lets out a deep groan and smacks his flushed cheeks. He’s calm. He’s collected. He’s the guy with a plan, who looks ahead to the future and steamrolls over the opposition with cutting facts and indomitable will. He is  _ not _ a twelve year old boy with his first crush!

Attempting to move their relationship along a little with  _ flirting _ sounded like a good idea at the time. It was the equivalent of testing the waters and could even be passed off as good humor in the event that Kakashi didn’t respond with equal fervor. Except Kakashi  _ did _ respond.

_ Kakashi flirted back. _

Awkwardly at first, sure. Probably a little spooked at the change in pace, definitely. Then he slipped into some weird persona that made Toshiro remember why Gai called Kakashi  _ hip and cool. _ Suave words, heated eye contact, drawling tone — who even let that be legal? It was completely unfair!

_ I’m being ridiculous. _ However long ago it was — over twenty years, another lifetime — he  _ had _ been in a relationship. This wasn’t his first time flirting or dating or whatever, so you’d think he’d be a little more confident. Except he’s wracked with nerves and everytime Kakashi flirted back he’d sunk in on himself in giddy embarrassment. Like a child. Or a high school girl in a rom-com anime.  _ Get yourself together. You kickstarted a revolution. You’re running a hospital and essentially have a seat in the government. _

He’s completely head over heels.

Sighing gustily, Toshiro pushes himself up from his bed. The moonlight through the window illuminates the room, highlighting all his plants and books and the pile of clothes on the floor he hasn’t found the energy to pick up yet. Stripping off his clothes, he drops them in the pile — he really will do his laundry later, honest. The beginning of summer heralds muggy, warm nights. It’s a little too hot to wear a full robe to bed, and since he lives in a house full of kids he’s not keen on sleeping only in his underwear (or, Sage forbid,  _ the nude) _ in the event that there’s an emergency. 

So he changes into a pale blue jinbei, the shorts loose and soft against his thighs. His heartbeat begins to settle down. Taking a deep breath, Toshiro tilts his head back and stares at the ceiling. Once he feels a little more in control, he slips back into bed, this time under the thin covers. He’d been content to be friends. Content to let his attraction just... _ be. _ Now it feels like he’ll drown under the weight of all these secret emotions if he isn’t allowed to show them off. 

Toshiro has never flirted with anyone in his second life. Kakashi is the first, and he wants Kakashi to be the last.  _ Don’t be a coward. _ He tells himself, inhaling warm night air,  _ You aren’t one. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's happening yall it's HAPPENING


	20. first bloom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hm :)

Toshiro realizes that perhaps their flirting is not as subtle as he would like to believe after he witnesses Gin give Kakashi a very  _ unsubtle _ thumbs up. Kakashi, in turn, adopts a thousand yard stare as he too comes to the same conclusion. Because of how childlike they are, Toshiro had forgotten that he lives with nine geniuses (Kakashi included) and occasionally Naruto — who, while not a genius in the traditional sense, has no trouble in keeping up with everyone else. Toshiro is now incredibly thankful that he acts a little more restrained in the presence of the kids...and that he purchased better scent blocking seals. 

Not that he thinks he’ll need to use them anytime soon.

Really.

He doesn’t.

Sex is the last thing on his mind, honest, no matter what sly comments Kakashi makes. No matter how attractive his lopsided smile and strong arms are. Toshiro can remain totally professional. Completely.

Ok, so it’s driving him insane. 

Kakashi is a conundrum. He’s a child of war, carved from stone and bathed in blood. Lightning pumps through his veins, his chest has been hollowed out and filled with cotton. Toshiro knows the man has nightmares. Knows the man boils in his own guilt and gets so, so tired and apathetic that all he can do is paste on a false smile and make snide comments to turn people away. Away so they don’t see the mess underneath. Kakashi is a soldier who has only ever known war, and he struggles to swim in a world void of it. 

He is equal parts confident and insecure when it comes to social interactions. Toshiro can’t tell if half the conversations the man shuts down are because he’s truly uninterested or really just uncomfortable. No one teaches a child social skills on the battlefield. They teach you the quickest way to draw blood, the quickest way to purge yourself of empathy. 

Toshiro observes Kakashi for hours on end and he still doesn’t know every facet of the masked man’s personality. It’s purposeful, of course, because Toshiro doubts Kakashi even knows himself. It’s why the Copy Nin has the oddest hobbies, or seemingly random quirks. He was trying to build a personality to fill the void of apathy that bloodshed left gouged into his soul. He sticks his nose into a bunch of different things and then picks and chooses what he likes, uncaring of whether or not they go together. 

Toshiro likens Kakashi to a thunderstorm, but that is not always a wonderful thing. Beautiful, electrifying, stunning. A devastating force of nature. Pounding, icy rain that slicks the earth with mud and filth. Howling wind that bites at your flesh and tears at your clothes, your hair, your eyes. Cold and loud and miserable. Thunderous, unstoppable, deadly — overwhelming. The tumultuous nature of a broken man is like glass ground to dust. Shiny, shimmering and beautiful in the light, but quick to sting and draw blood at the slightest wrong touch. 

He wants to understand Kakashi. He wants to know where they stand with their game of flirting and pushing and pulling. Because for all that Kakashi will follow the dance, he’s just as quick to dart away. It’s obvious the man barely knows what he wants himself, barely knows what he’s allowed to be, allowed to do. 

For someone straightforward like Toshiro, Kakashi’s shifting, shadowy nature can be irritating. It  _ is _ irritating. At least in this capacity. As they live in a world of shinobi, such personalities and attitudes are expected and Toshiro cannot fault that. But they’re friends — maybe more. If he can’t have honesty in their work-lives, he wants it at home. He wants to be  _ human _ again, not just a tool.

And he wants Kakashi to see that, too.

_ It’s okay to do what you want. To take that step. To think with your heart before your head. To let your body lead even if you don’t know where it’s taking you. _

In their house, on their streets, with their friends, with their kids; they’re not on a battlefield. They’re home.

“Kakashi.” He catches the man’s attention.

The kids had left just minutes ago, eager and obnoxious and  _ knowing. _ The house is silent aside from two men playing chicken, awkwardly standing in the kitchen. Kakashi blinks slowly, his sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms and the streaking scars — he’s never looked more attractive to Toshiro, droopy eye and bedhead and all.

He wants to step into Kakashi’s space. Wants to pull his mask down and kiss him, wants to tell the man it’s okay if he’s a little broken, because they’re all a little broken. And if he wants, they can spend the rest of their lives gluing bits of themselves back together. 

He does none of these things, because he’s always led with words before action.

“Do you know how I feel about you?”  _ Fish for information. _

It’s quiet. Kakashi blinks again, his fingers twitching. He makes an abortive movement with his hands before his arms drop to his sides. “I don’t know. Sometimes it’s hard to tell. I suppose, if anything, we share a particularly strong friendship.”

Toshiro’s lips quirk up. That’s one way to put it. “I hear that some people are able to connect through fighting. They let their fists do the talking and their feelings are realized and understood. You and Gai are a good example.” 

Kakashi raises an eyebrow, “You...want to fight?”

“No,” he snorts lightly and shakes his head, pale gold slipping over his shoulder. Kakashi’s eye follows the movement. “I’m telling you that I’m not like that. And I’m not a mindreader, no matter what some people might say. The feelings we hold for each other, no matter what they are — are impossible for us to understand if we don’t speak them. I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty confused about where we’re sitting with each other right now, and I don’t particularly like it.”

“Ah,” Kakashi clears his throat. “....well.” He makes a wavy motion with his hand, visible skin steadily flushing. “Words and feelings. My two favorite things.”

In response to the man’s obvious embarrassment, Toshiro feels his own skin start to flush. His hands shake, and he presses his palms to his chest to feel the pounding of his own heart. Toshiro has stood in a room of Clan Heads and demanded change. He willingly entered battle with a ROOT operative knowing the likely outcome was his death.

He can do this.

Probably.

If Kakashi doesn’t flee before Toshiro can get the words out. The man is starting to look flighty, his dark eye tracking to the side and his toes scrunching against the floor. Always able to act when it’s not serious, but unable to face reality.

He sighs, entirely too fond, “I’m trying to tell you that I like you as more than a friend, you ridiculous flight-risk. And if you want to kiss me as badly as I want to kiss you, then maybe we should get on that.”

Kakashi makes an odd sound, like choked laughter, “I thought  _ I _ was supposed to be Genma in the little analogy we had going.”

“Yeah, well, you were taking too long to ask me out.”

Kakashi makes another withering noise. 

“What, you don’t want to?” Courageous as he just was, Toshiro feels that front begin to falter. His voice wavers, nerves showing. The heartbeat beneath his palms picks up. Even the smile on his face feels wobbly.

Kakashi squeezes his eye shut, fingers clenching into a fist and unclenching. Clenching and unclenching. Like pulling teeth, he grits out a weak, guttural reply — “I do.”

_ You don’t sound excited. _ Toshiro tries not to take it personally.

“You want to go out with me, or you want to kiss me?” Toshiro steps closer, noting the subtle tensing of Kakashi’s frame as he does.

Kakashi cracks his eye open and gifts Toshiro with a heated look that pins him in place. “I’m not sure what else I should have expected.”

“What?” He manages to get out — then pauses upon being exposed to Kakashi’s face, the mask pooled around a pale neck. 

The silver-haired man steps forward, shoulders loosening as his arms come up and around to pull Toshiro against him. His hands slide down Toshiro’s back to settle around his hips. Toshiro’s arms end up trapped between their chests. A nose nudges at his ear, a hot exhale heats his cheek. 

“You’re like a bull in a china shop.” Kakashi mutters, his voice deep and rumbling in Toshiro’s ear. It sends a shiver down his spine that isn’t wholly unpleasant.

Wiggling, he manages to slip his arms out so he can return the impromptu hug. With their chests pressed together, Toshiro can’t tell if it’s his heartbeat shaking their bodies, or Kakashi’s. Maybe it’s both. He shuts his eyes and presses his face into Kakashi’s shoulder. Their joined body heat makes the flush on his cheeks deepen, and this position overwhelms him with the scent of the other man. Ozone and sandalwood. Metal and dog. Toshiro grips the back of Kakashi’s shirt tightly and exhales against the loose fabric around the man’s neck. 

“What’s the point of building walls when you keep tearing them down?” Kakashi mutters, voice somewhere between exhausted and wistful. Toshiro swallows. What skin he can see is bright red. 

“Should I apologize?” He asks.

Kakashi hums, “I don’t know. I don’t really know what I’m feeling right now.”

“That’s fair,” Toshiro huffs. “Neither do I, aside from nervousness.”

It’s hard to put a name to the emotions you feel when you never learned  _ how. _ It’s just a swirling mess of good or bad, and trying to distinguish separate ones felt impossible. That numbness came from war, from murdering dozens before you lost your last baby tooth. Shinobi were taught to shut off their emotions. It made it easier to face an enemy if you locked away your empathy — hesitation meant death, or the death of a friend. It was turning those emotions back on that was the hard part, and very few ever really succeeded. To fill that incomplete feeling left behind, shinobi picked up quirks or hobbies to cope. It’s why the civilians, who observed odd behavior by shinobi every day of their lives, would just laugh it off without much thought.  _ Oh, it’s just a shinobi thing. _ No matter how odd. 

Kakashi’s grip tightens, his chest pressing tight against Toshiro’s as he takes a deep breath. “Okay.  _ Okay.” _

Then he pulls back slowly, the bare skin of their cheeks brushing delicately. Toshiro’s breath catches in his throat, his fingers tremble against Kakashi’s back. He’s killed men thrice his size as a child. He dug his way through bodies and blood and mud. 

Their lips touch and his heart squeezes.

Pink eyes flutter shut, pale lashes tickling his vermillion cheeks. Kakashi’s lips are dry. It’s just the soft press of flesh against flesh, but Toshiro’s whole body feels electrified. It’s a little awkward — first kisses generally are, and neither of them are particularly experienced, Toshiro’s first life aside. It’s noses bumping soft cheeks and slipping from top lip to bottom lip, to corner of the mouth. He pulls his hands back to trail up Kakashi’s chest and rest on the man’s sharp jaw. Tracing the skin with his thumb, he can feel the faint tug of stubble — and a little further up his right thumb catches on the edge of Kakashi’s scar. 

A huff of breath from Kakashi’s nose — and he presses forward, drawing a muffled gasp from Toshiro. One of Kakashi’s scarred hands remains wrapped around his back, the other slips up to get lost in the loose wave of pale gold hair. He pulls.

Toshiro gasps louder, this time his mouth falling open. Kakashi swallows the sound and catches Toshiro’s bottom lip between his own, but it’s messy and a little too hard — his teeth nip sharply without thought and the taste of blood meets their tongues.

Kakashi pulls back, his eye darker than Toshiro has ever seen it, a smudge of blood on his rosy mouth. Toshiro takes a few deep breaths, his tongue tracing along his throbbing bottom lip, where the surge of blood is coming from. In an instant, it’s healed. Kakashi’s eye traces the movement hazily, his throat bobbing as he swallows.

“Sorry.” He says, breathless.

“Don’t worry,” Toshiro whispers back, “I liked it.”

Kakashi makes an odd sound in his throat, and Toshiro kisses him again. It tastes like mint and blood and the remnants of breakfast, the damp slide of their mouths sending little shocks across every atom in his body. Kakashi grips him tight and presses, presses, presses until Toshiro feels his back meet the counter, not even aware he’d moved. Breathing gets harder as his brain fogs up and he’s not sure he can remember to take in air when the slick feel of Kakashi’s tongue against the seam of his lips saps all rational thought from his head. 

He finally has to pull away with a sharp gasp, lungs straining. Kakashi bites at his jaw, then trails downwards, sharp teeth snagging on the heaving, flushed skin of Toshiro’s neck. He lets out an embarrassingly high pitched noise when the silver-haired menace puts his mouth over the throbbing pulse of Toshiro’s carotid and  _ sucks. _ He twines his fingers into that wild, untamed silver hair and alternates between holding and petting. It’s surprisingly soft for the amount of gravity-defying it does — amazes him everytime he runs his hands through it.

Heat pools in his gut as Kakashi’s teeth skim closer to the junction in which his neck meets his shoulder. Toshiro tugs impatiently at the man’s hair, dragging those wandering lips back up to his own.

“No funny business in the kitchen,” he mutters against Kakashi’s mouth, before kissing his way inside. 

Kakashi groans as their tongues brush, and Toshiro knicks his on a sharp canine. The renewed hint of blood doesn’t slow either of them. The Copy Nin pulls away after a long moment, saliva damp around the corners of his mouth. 

“Your fault entirely.” He says, red lips curling into a smirk. 

Toshiro doesn’t think it’s possible for him to be any more attracted to Kakashi than he already is, but the heated, kissed-out look on the other man’s face is  _ doing something to him. _ He presses their foreheads together softly, sated and amused. “Oh, it’s my fault you can’t keep it in your pants?”

“Absolutely,” Kakashi replies without hesitation, his warm breath ghosting over Toshiro’s tingling lips. “Your seduction technique is impeccable.”

Toshiro laughs, their noses bumping. “I’ve seduced you, have I?”

“Yes,” Kakashi says, and there is once again no hesitation. But the look on his face has changed. It’s softer now, silver lashes low over a warm eye, the sharp smirk sanded down into something a little sweeter. It’s not an expression Toshiro has ever witnessed from the man before. “Yes, you have.”

* * *

Labels in the shinobi world are hard. Unless you’re part of a Clan, most never even marry. It’s easier to just love or fuck whoever you want — and most shinobi have multiple partners. There is  _ dating, _ of course. Not everyone is into open relationships. Those who do get into one are usually pretty possessive of their partner(s). Toshiro has a feeling Kakashi might take it to a whole new level. That’s only a guess though, because of the dog thing. He could be completely wrong.

But as he stares into the mirror at the row of hickeys down his neck, he’s pretty sure he’s onto something.

Neither of them are interested in anyone else. The term ‘boyfriend’ feels a bit weird, so they’ve settled on  _ partner, _ or  _ lover. _ There really doesn’t have to be a label for it. They’re each other’s and that’s all there is to it. 

Pulling away in the kitchen had been hard, but he really does draw the line at… moving on to whatever might have happened while in a space like that. It would be hard to clear the space of smells before the kids got home, and he is  _ not _ subjecting them to that. Besides, he had work, so they couldn’t stay there and make-out like teenagers. 

_ No matter how much he wanted to. _

Sighing, Toshiro hovers a hand over the rapidly purpling marks. If they weren’t so obvious, he’d be tempted to leave them. The way they looked against his skin made him dizzy — made him think of exactly how he got them.  _ Dammit. _

He heals the marks, resolving to tell Kakashi to leave them  _ under _ the collar next time.

Then his chest swells with a tidal wave of honey-sweet giddiness at the  _ idea _ of a next time — and at the fact that it’s  _ possible. _ They aren’t dancing around each other. They aren’t flirting — well, that’s a lie. They’ll probably still flirt. Kakashi’s whole  _ thing _ is getting under people’s skin. Flirting is just a new way to do it, and one he’s obviously not unwilling to try on Toshiro. 

He steps out of the bathroom with a sigh, neck now clear of hickeys. Already dressed in his uniform, he meanders back into the kitchen. “Alright, I’m off.”

Kakashi eyes his neck with a frown. “Hm.”

Toshiro rolls his eyes and jabs a finger in Kakashi’s direction, already halfway out the door. His voice dips into something sultry. “Next time, below the collar.” 

Then he shuts the door with a grin, the sound of Kakashi’s spluttering in his ears.

* * *

“Kazane-san, ready for your checkup?” He closes the door behind him, the silencing seals flaring to life. 

The very pregnant Inuzuka Kazane is his first patient. She’s about seven months along and swollen to prove it. He’s been seeing her for most of her pregnancy, so her wild, dark brown hair and sharp grin are familiar. Even being Hospital Director, he still has to complete a certain amount of clinic hours — and they’d organized her checkups around them at her insistence. 

She’d also very vehemently expressed her dislike at his formality. He was forbidden from calling her  _ Inuzuka-san. _

Kazane’s chin rises, her nose twitching. After a second, her dark gold eyes narrow, an expression of absolute glee overtaking her feral features. “Holy  _ shit! _ Hatake finally grew some balls!”

“Kazane-san, please.” He groans, hiding his smile behind his clipboard. 

She laughs raucously, “Hey man, you’re the one dragging his scent around! The whole damn village was wondering when you two would finally get your acts together. It’s a new thing, right?”

“...as of this morning.” Toshiro admits.

“Yes!” She hisses through her teeth, fist pumping out. “Guess who just won  _ a lot of money!” _

“Please tell me there wasn’t a betting pool about our relationship.” It’s rhetorical, because of course there was. He  _ knows _ what his friends are like,  _ and _ what bored shinobi get up to. 

Kazane mimes zipping her mouth shut. “Then I won’t tell ya.”

He barely manages to stop from rolling his eyes again, yet is unable to stop the humorous grin from blossoming forth. It doesn’t even matter that by the time he gets out of work, over half the village is going to know he and Kakashi are  _ involved.  _ If they didn’t already think that.

And he knows people did, otherwise Mizuki-sensei and Iruka-sensei wouldn’t call him  _ Hatake-sama. _ Too bad he’d liked the way that sounded too much, otherwise he would have corrected them.

(He probably still won’t.)

The rest of the checkup proceeds as normal, Kazane-san has a perfectly healthy seven-month-old girl. He endures her probing questions and good-natured ribbing. Most seem to find Inuzuka’s to be...too much, at times. Toshiro thinks he understands them well enough, their camaraderie is just a little more abrasive than others. 

(Good thing shinobi generally had thick skins.)

There’s probably no hope in asking her to keep it to herself, even if he did he’s sure the nature of his relationship status would get out sooner rather than later. While it’s true he’d rather have been able to tell his friends himself, he’s sure they’ll probably be more excited that it’s happening  _ at all. _ Nosy bastards.

When they finish, Kazane hops off the examination table and brushes down her wide maternity shirt. After a toothy grin and a loud goodbye, she makes her way out. He sterilizes the room and follows, flipping the sign on the side of the outside wall from  _ occupied _ to  _ open. _

About two hours later, he’s ambushed in his office.

“Aikawa-sensei!” Tsutomu Hanako, his chosen  _ Shinobi Trauma Team  _ Head, slams his door open with excessive gusto. Her dark brown hair is starting to escape the high bun she’s wrangled it into, and her dark eyes are blazing. “You and Hatake-sama!?”

Toshiro turns his gaze to the ceiling, a flush rising to his cheeks. It’s going to be a long shift.

* * *

The kids already know. It’s not even that they heard rumors while at school. No, it’s something else. Something Toshiro really should have expected, but it still has him pausing with his chopsticks halfway to his mouth.

“You mean you weren’t already together?” Haruki asks, blinking wildly. Otoya sits at his feet, curled tail thumping against the hardwood.

Sai gifts them with one of his odd smiles, “This reminds me of a romance trope commonly used in novels geared towards teenage girls.”

Kakashi stares for a moment, before sighing. “Yeah, okay.”

Chiasa, still sweaty and dusty from a D Rank with her team, gives them both slight nods. “Congratulations.”

Toshiro grins, feeling a little sheepish all of a sudden. It’s not as if anything will change, but he’s kind of like the step-dad in this relationship, isn’t he? The approval of the children means a lot to him.

“Yeah!” Touma exclaims, “But don’t do that kissy stuff around us. Blegh!”

“Touma!” Gin scolds, his hand descending on his little brother’s wild curls. 

Touma screeches as he’s noogied, “But it’s gross! Kissing is gross!”

Kakashi puts a hand on his chin and smiles with his eye, “You might think differently when you’re older, kiddo.”

“No way!” The lavender-eyed boy exclaims, finally escaping Gin’s clutches.

“I don’t know,” Kojika murmurs, her hands on her cheeks, “I think it’s romantic…”

Gin whips his head in her direction, silver eyes narrowed, “You haven’t been talking to any boys, have you?”

“Maa,” Kakashi waves his free hand, humor in his voice, “Save it until the first boyfriend, Gin-chan.”

Takehiko and Asuhi glance at each other, then Takehiko gifts Toshiro and Kakashi with a thumbs up, his cheeks puffed with food. Asuhi smiles at them, wide and bright and so much like Naruto. They still don’t look alike, but sometimes… Well, he can  _ tell. _

“I’m happy for you, Kaka-nii, Toshi-nii!” She exclaims, a far cry from the sullen girl she once was.

“Thank you,” he says, and under the table, where the children can’t see, he curls his hand around Kakashi’s.

It’s warm.

* * *

“I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS!” Shisui yells, clutching his chest like he’s been mortally wounded. “You couldn’t give us a heads up? Send a hawk? A dog? I know you’ve got plenty of those!”

The tea house is almost full, and the collective rambles of the other patrons masks most of their conversation from prying eyes and listening ears. Shisui, Hoshika and Fuyumi sit on one side of the table, pressed together in the booth. Toshiro is sitting besides Inoka, her mouth curled into a gleeful, catlike grin. She hums happily and sips on her tea.

“Ignore him,” Hoshika mutters, her elbow digging into Shisui’s side. She’s the buffer between her boyfriend and his more composed clansmen. Clanswomen? “We’re just glad you guys finally did something. You were more painful to watch than Genma and Raidou.”

“Thank you.” He replies dryly.

Inko giggles, “Man, they might even beat you guys out with their pining. If only one of them had guts like Toshiro.”

He folds his arms across his chest, flushing. “All I did was confront him about it! Why waste time dancing around if the feelings are mutual?”

“The age old question.” Inoka snorts. 

“Don’t ask me.” Hoshika mutters, jerking a thumb at Shisui, “This idiot asked me out right from the start.”

The curly-haired Uchiha grins smugly, “I was just  _ so  _ taken by you, I couldn’t keep it in!” He wiggles like a child, “And you said  _ yes!” _

Hoshika purses her lips, tan cheeks darkening slightly. “Yeah, well, it was the only way to get you to stop coming around.”

Fuyumi coughs delicately to hide a laugh. 

“Oooh, I didn’t know Uchiha could get burned.” Inoka faux-whispers.

Shisui pouts, his one dark eye wide and wet, stupidly long lashes fluttering. “Oh, the colder she is, the harder I fall—”

“Anyway,” Fuyumi interrupts, ignoring Shisui’s squawking. “I’m glad to hear that you’re happy, Toshiro-kun. It’s uncertain how civilians will react, however. In Konoha’s short history, there has not been a Clan Head who took a same-sex lover.”

“Openly.” Inoka chimes, brushing her loose, low ponytail back over her shoulder. Her blue eyes twinkle, “Some of ‘em could’a had a little...side piece. Ya feel?”

“Possibly.” Fuyumi allows, “But I just want you to be careful. The shinobi side of Konoha will accept you entirely, for the most part. You have heirs, numerous enough to not worry any elders. Civilians, however…”

“Yeah,” Toshiro sighs, running a finger along his rapidly cooling cup of tea. That’s the part he’s been trying not to think about. Homophobia wasn’t...rampant, so much as homosexuality just wasn’t acknowledged to begin with. To broadcast it so openly and plainly would certainly stir up a few people. Part of him wants the civilians to brush it under the rug as  _ just another shinobi quirk. _ Another, louder part of him wants it to create something of an impact.

The LGBT+ community in Konoha is unsupported, unloved, unseen — very few safe spaces exist and they’re kept under wraps. Most of the general public don’t even know they existed. Toshiro wouldn’t be hard pressed to say that some civilians have never even heard of  _ two men kissing _ being a  _ thing. _ If he and Kakashi being… maybe not  _ in your face _ public, but at least open about their relationship manages to ease the hearts of those struggling with their sexuality? Well. There is a lot of stigma and ignorance around the subject, but with time and effort...

“Uh oh, Shiro-chan has his thinking face on!” Shisui chuckles, resting his chin on his hands. “What part of Konoha are you tearing apart and rebuilding this time?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replies, taking a long sip of jasmine tea. “I’m just enjoying spending time with my friends.”

Hoshika scoffs lowly, “Yeah, right. Jeez, I can already feel how much of a pain this will be.” She slumps in the booth, the back of her head thunking against the upholstery. 

Inoka grins, sharp and alive and looking just as eager as she had five years ago, when she and Toshiro discussed going to the Yamanaka’s for help. “I dunno, I’m always up for a little mayhem!”

“Right on!” Shisui holds out a hand and the two smack their palms together, while Fuyumi just shakes her head with a poorly hidden smile on her lips.

It’s safe to say not a single person there believed his words. He grins into his tea, wondering when his life got so lively and full of people he’d kill for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> toshiro was really like "this man's gonna take too long" huh


	21. still flowering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> filler filler filler someone eND ME also hello, it's been almost 10 days oops

Toshiro wakes to his door opening. There was no sneaking attempted, and the pitter-patter of small footsteps puts him at ease. So does the head of dark red hair that peeks into his view. It’s shortly followed by a halo of blond much darker than his own — gold where his remains ashy and beige. 

“Naruto, Asuhi,” he whispers into the moonlit dark, “What’s wrong?”

The two Uzumaki are holding hands, Asuhi’s smaller figure just a step behind Naruto. Her head is tilted to press against his arm. They don’t look hurt, just sleep-rumpled. Asuhi’s hair is a tangled mess, while Naruto’s is stuffed under that ridiculously cute sleep hat of his. There are crease imprints on Naruto’s cheek.

“Asuhi had a nightmare, ya know.” Naruto says, and his voice is considerably quieter than usual, but not enough to be called a whisper. “Can we sleep with you?”

Toshiro tosses his blankets back and shuffles over. “Sure. But right to sleep, okay? No giggling to each other and staying up late.”

The two scramble into bed. It’s wide enough for two adult people to sleep comfortably, so one adult and two small kids isn’t a tight squeeze. Asuhi lays between them, one of her hands still clasped in Naruto’s and her other reaching out to hold Toshiro’s sleep shirt. 

_ This is another reason he doesn’t sleep in the nude or just his underwear. _

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks her, keeping his voice soft. 

She peers up at him with her murky green eyes — they almost look black in the dark — and shakes her head. “No, I’m okay.”

He presses his lips together into a flat line, but doesn’t push her. Naruto falls asleep quickly, and Toshiro waits another half hour until he’s sure Asuhi has dropped off to sleep as well. Only then does he allow himself to relax. It’s still a little odd and unfamiliar to him, having someone lay beside him while he’s at his most vulnerable. Sleep is a scary thing for a shinobi, especially while out on a mission or during war time. It’s a big reason that Kakashi and Toshiro haven’t jumped the gun and just… started sleeping in each other's rooms.

_ Just _ sleeping. (Really!)

They live together. They’re  _ together _ together. But that doesn’t mean they can’t have their own space. As okay with affection and touching that Toshiro can be, that’s only when it’s in  _ his _ control. Sleep is new territory. Shinobi instincts, trauma and unconscious minds are terrible,  _ dangerous _ things. Especially when combined. 

Toshiro isn’t stupid. He  _ knows  _ Kakashi has nightmares that would put every one of Toshiro’s to shame. The other man has seen and experienced more violence and destruction than Toshiro can possibly fathom. Two years of war and a few years of aftermath missions. It nearly  _ ruined him. _

It’s impossible to imagine what two decades of active shinobi work does to a human mind. Kakashi is dangerous, probably not entirely mentally sound, and is in no way safe to sleep around  _ one hundred percent of the time. _ That doesn’t stop Toshiro from wanting to. They’d been fine that one time — and if they’re lucky maybe it’ll happen again. Toshiro feels calm in the other man’s arms. Safe. It’s like Kakashi chases away the very possibility of nightmares. He can only hope his presence does the same in return. 

Breathing deeply, he listens to the soft snores of the two children beside him and slips away into his own sleep.

* * *

Kakashi is tenacious. His hands slip around Toshiro’s back, slide up his spine, grip at his sides. His mouth sears like a hot brand against freckled flesh. Kakashi likes kissing. He likes putting his hands on Toshiro in any way he can,  _ whenever _ he can. It’s actually a little startling to Toshiro, who never took the man for the touchy-feely type. 

Except after a few days of being pressed against walls or kissed against the door or accosted in the kitchen — Toshiro realizes that  _ no, _ that’s not the case. Kakashi isn’t touchy-feely. He’s not affectionate in a casual sense. He doesn’t do  _ soft. _ Doesn’t brush his hands across Toshiro’s arms or try to hold his hand, doesn’t initiate romantic touches. He just kisses and gropes. (Then always pulls back when the heat gets to be too much, when he’s panting into Toshiro’s mouth and his eye is wide and dark and desperate.)

Kakashi isn’t touchy-feely. He doesn’t know how to be romantic. He knows the concept of romance, but his knowledge — Toshiro guesses — stems purely from observing the loose, sexual nature of their friend group and the  _ literal porn novels _ he reads like gospel. It’s not like Toshiro minds. It’s okay if their relationship is a little unusual. A little odd. 

But sometimes he’d like to just hold Kakashi’s hand, even if the idea of Kakashi holding  _ anyone’s _ hands refuses to compute in his head. 

Sometimes he wants to sit like they used to, shoulder to shoulder in the quiet of the evening, the sound of kids and dogs in the yard outside. He wants to touch without the expectation of kissing and sexual tension. For someone so obsessed with a smutty romance novel, Kakashi is remarkably bad with the subtle nuances and types of touches expected in a relationship.

Again, Toshiro can’t blame the guy. Bad childhood, literal war, all your friends and family dead. Kakashi is the poster boy for shattered mental health, stunted emotional growth and ineffective coping mechanisms that lead to depressive episodes. It would be hypocritical for Toshiro to say he’s not also eager to do things like kiss and touch and...more. 

But it’s all Kakashi seems to know. Or rather,  _ expect. _

It hurts a little to think the man still sees casual touches and kindness as uncomfortable. 

He’s not sure how to bring it up. Or fix it. If it even  _ is  _ something to be fixed. Kakashi doesn’t seem to have a problem when Toshiro touches him casually or plays with his hair — it’s returning the gestures that’s the problem. That’s fine. He can work with that. 

And Kakashi is very distracting.

“You have to go.” He says sternly, unable to hide a smile. One hand pushes at Kakashi’s chest, moving the taller man out of Toshiro’s space. “You’re going to be even later than usual.”

Kakashi’s kiss-pink lips open to let out a put upon sigh, “They won’t notice.”

“No.” Toshiro quickly moves his hand to Kakashi’s mouth when the man tries to lean in again. He laughs at the surly expression the man’s dark eye conveys. “Seriously, get out of here.”

Shoulders slumping, Kakashi finally steps back and tugs his mask up. “Yeah, yeah. I know when I’m not wanted.” With a two fingered salute, he disappears in a swirl of leaves.

Toshiro rolls his eyes at the Copy Nin’s dramatics. He puts his hands on his hips and frowns down at the pile of curled leaves, knowing it’s  _ him _ who will have to sweep them up. It’ll have to wait until he gets back from work — or maybe one of the kids will do it when they get back from the Academy. (Or, in Asuhi’s case, the Civilian School.) 

Today he’s meeting the ANBU who survived Orochimaru’s experiments. It’s surprisingly hard to get a meeting set up, especially since the ANBU’s skill set makes him highly requested for specific missions. Those missions are not short ones, either. Toshiro isn’t even sure of the man’s name. He wasn’t given one, so he’s not really  _ expecting _ one at this meeting, either. Secrecy and all that. That’s fine, Toshiro doesn’t need a patient’s name to be their doctor. 

The hospital is busy, but far more organized than it had been years ago. It’s one thing to imagine it, and another to witness the effects of a better layout and care system. He walks through the halls and greets both workers and wandering patients as he passes, his hair carefully tied up in a bun and his hitai-ate around his neck. In his hands are the files of information relating to the ANBU and Orochimaru’s experiments. Their meeting will take place in one of the examination rooms on the third floor, on the side of the building meant for shinobi only. It’s where they deal with more...high profile patients. (ANBU, Hunter-nin, and, if it comes to it, the Hokage.)

The ANBU is already inside, his chakra muted but not hidden, and Toshiro isn’t a sensory type so he can’t pick up much beyond that. It would be an amazing skill to have as a medic — or just as a shinobi in general. Sensory type ninja are held in high regard, and the most skilled of them can even read the emotions or characteristics of a person. Scary, when you think about it, but amazing all the same. 

“Aikawa-sensei.” The man says, head tipping in a softer version of a bow. Shaggy brown hair pokes out from behind his cat-like mask. His eyes are impossible to see, his voice deep but not particularly distinctive. 

“ANBU-san.” He greets in return. The sight of the mask makes it apparent — Toshiro is not the Hokage, nor is he ANBU, and therefore he does not have the clearance to know anything beyond the man’s health. Toshiro plops himself down on the rolling stool, files in his lap. The ANBU remains standing next to the examination table. “I’ve been looking over your data. Seems you’re a very lucky man, though I’m sure you’ve heard that often.”

“Not as much as you would think.” The man replies, his tone as dry as it is respectful. 

Toshiro smiles, at least there’s a personality under that mask. “As deplorable as his experiments were and are, Orochimaru is, regretfully,  _ skilled.  _ He’s good at what he does. You wouldn’t think it, with you being the only survivor. Transplanting DNA doesn’t just succeed on a  _ whim.” _ He flips open the top-most folder, where ANBU-san’s bloodwork and tissue sample data is recorded. “Effectively, he’s given you a third parent strand on top of the initial two. Your chromosomes read XYY. Mother, father, Shodaime-sama. Children can be naturally born with XYY chromosomes, but you display none of the effects of that genetic disorder. Instead, your DNA strands don’t form a helix, but a triad. Twenty-three chromosomes from your father, twenty-three from our mother, and twenty-three from Shodaime-sama.”

The ANBU listens quietly. Toshiro has no idea if the man is already aware of all this or not.

“Frankly,” he sighs, and taps the page the folder is open to, “It seems completely impossible for the human body to even exist with sixty-nine chromosomes. The potential for defects is astronomical.” Toshiro doesn’t say that having  _ sixty-nine _ removes ANBU-san from the category of  _ human _ entirely. There’s genetic defects, and then there’s whatever the hell ANBU-san is. It seems a little rude to say that to the man’s face, however. And what really made a  _ human,  _ anyway? They breathed fire, for Sage’s sake! Some people could see with no visible  _ pupil! _ And the Uchiha? Forget explaining their eyes to anyone from Toshiro’s old world. Chakra made the impossible _ possible.  _

Orochimaru’s notes are complex, harrowing to read and at times downright cruel, but Toshiro can see how the man did it. (Can replicate it, if he wants. He doesn’t.) 

“You,” Toshiro gives the man a very, very serious look. “Are lucky. I mean that in every way possible. Everything about your genetic makeup is seamless. You’re even less likely to go gray before you hit fifty, unlike half the male population.”

“There’s no possibility of damaging effects in the long run?” The brown haired ANBU asks. 

Toshiro hums, “Do you plan on having children?”

ANBU-san stiffens slightly, but whether it’s because the question catches him off guard or he’s just uncomfortable is hard to say. “I...don’t know. I have no plans to, currently.”

“Well when you do — or if you do, the biggest concern will be whether or not it’s even possible.” Because even if the man was human, it didn’t mean his DNA would register as such to another’s. Makes conception kind of hard when the pairing strands just aren’t viable. The issue is that a woman will give twenty-three chromosomes to form a child. ANBU-san will likely give forty-six. 

Obvious problem. 

Not enough for pairs —  _ or it could be, _ if the forty-six ANBU-san gives are already attached, as they should be, since he  _ did  _ have the normal amount of strands. Then it’s the issue of whether his double-chromosome helix can attach to a new set of chromosomes. 

Every descendant of ANBU-san will end up with a triad strand rather than a helix.

If he can even have kids. (Or wants them.)

“It’s also likely that your acquired kekkei genkai is hereditary.”

ANBU-san doesn’t say anything for a moment, then, “I did consider that a possibility.”

_ So he’s thought about kids. _

“It’s okay to want children eventually.” Even if a child might possibly not be viable. Or be stillborn. Or have genetic defects. Or even just end up perfectly healthy. Toshiro can’t take away the man’s ability to  _ try, _ but he can prepare him for possible outcomes. “I don’t know how old you are, but you seem to be around the age that marriage and children are talked about. Whether it’s tomorrow or ten years from now, I will be here if you need me. If you decide to try for a child, I will help you as best I can. If it turns out it’s impossible, well,” he offers a smile, “I’ve some experience in adopting strays.”

“I’m aware.” The man replies, “You’re good for him. Kakashi-senpai, that is.”

Toshiro blinks. “Oh, um. Thank you?”

“Sorry, that was out of line—”

“No,” he waves off the man’s silly apology. “You’re fine. I actually...appreciate hearing that.”

ANBU-san nods after a slight hesitation. “Thank you. For...telling me this.”

“Of course.” It’s a little anticlimactic for both of them, perhaps. But that’s a good thing in this case. Had it been more of an issue then that would mean ANBU-san was at risk. The man being (amazingly) healthy is a relief and a gift. 

Barring the fact that it shouldn’t have been an issue to begin with — thanks, Orochimaru, for that. Stealing and murdering babies was a perfectly respectable pastime.  _ Not. _

“It’s been written in your files that I’m responsible for your primary medical care. Medical Ninjutsu and most natural remedies work fine on you, so getting patched up by med-nin staff on hand after missions won’t be an issue. I’ll be called in for anything requiring bloodwork, or to deal with poisoning. I promise you, no matter  _ what _ is happening, I will drop everything and come to your aid. Your genetics are being kept under a very heavy lock and key, ANBU-san.”

The man nods again, “Both Hokage-sama and I believed it necessary. As a way to protect myself while certain enemies remain active.”

“Orochimaru, you mean?” Toshiro huffs, then shakes his head. “Don’t answer that, I don’t want to know if there’s anyone else.”

“You don’t?”

He grins, “I trust Itachi. If there’s something I need to know, he’ll tell me.”

ANBU-san tilts his head. “I see. You’re…” He trails off.

Toshiro blinks, “What?”

“Not what I expected.” Then the man’s shoulders tense, “Not that it’s a bad thing, I mean, you’re good. Just. Good.”

Toshiro purses his lips to stop a smile, more than a little amused at how odd it is to see an ANBU member stumble over his words. “I’m...glad you think so?”

Awkwardly, the man nods again. “Yes. Well.”

“You’re all set, ANBU-san. Unless there are other issues you wish to discuss?” He smoothly moves on, “I know this was pretty brief, but I wanted to be able to explain our current knowledge and let you know about the current medical arrangement.”

“Thank you, again.” 

_ Don’t thank me, that’s my job,  _ he wants to say, but doesn’t. That seems too impersonal, and Toshiro doesn’t dislike ANBU-san. Besides, a part of him looks at ANBU-san and wonders how the Hatake kids could have turned out. The other man seems remarkably well-adjusted for being both an experiment and a former Root member. 

Toshiro knows ANBU-san is one of the lucky ones.

“It’s not a problem, really. I’m glad to help.”

* * *

“So, you’ve met—”

“Don’t tell me his name.” Toshiro puts a finger up to Kakashi’s masked lips. “You’re ridiculously loose-lipped for someone part of a secret assassination squad.”

“Formerly.” Kakashi mutters, and Toshiro’s heart begins to race at the feeling of the man’s lips moving against the calloused skin of his fingertip. “I’ll be responsible.”

Toshiro raises a single brow — Kakashi is many things, but responsible is not always one of them — and drops his hand. They’re standing close enough that Toshiro can feel Kakashi’s body heat, but the man keeps his distance respectable while they’re in public. The summer evening is hot and arid, and the tacky feeling of sweat pools at the base of his hairline. After a shower, he’d re-tied his hair into a sloppy bun, strands of ashy blond framing his face. Kakashi’s been eyeing his neck throughout their entire walk — which is embarrassing, and he really wonders if the taller man doesn’t realize how obvious he’s being.

Toshiro’s yukata is thin and perfect for the summer heat, dyed a pretty pale green with a multitude of pink and yellow embroidered flowers spilling down the fabric. It’s tied with a yellow obi. In contrast to Toshiro’s summery clothes, Kakashi is dressed in a softer version of his typical jounin outfit — black rather than navy blue — and no flak jacket. Somehow, he doesn’t look to be sweating at all in the heat of dusk, but his hair is a little fluffier than usual due to the humidity. It’s cute. 

And, Toshiro realizes, there’s nothing preventing him from saying as such.

He reaches up without breaking his stride and brushes a strand of Kakashi’s hair. “Your hair gets really cute in the heat.”

Kakashi blinks rapidly, his next step a little awkward. “Oh. Is that so?”

“Yes.” He confirms, then grins with all the sweet, tooth-rotting softness of melting ice cream. His hand drops back to his side. “You know...tonight...if you want, you should come to my room.”

This time Kakashi  _ does _ almost trip, his eye wide. 

“Or I could come to yours.” 

Kakashi’s throat visibly bobs with a swallow, “Uh, you mean— like, you want to, uh.”

Toshiro slides the taller man a coy look, “What exactly is running through your mind, Kakashi-kun? Maybe I just want to cuddle.”

Kakashi coughs. “Right. Right, I know.” 

“I said maybe.” He says slowly, his fingers brushing Kakashi’s. He doesn’t go to grab his hand, because holding hands in public is definitely the last thing Kakashi would be caught doing. “So who knows what could happen.”

“That’s right, and you still promised to teach me some things. Ne, Sensei?” Kakashi regains his momentum, eye curving into the usual smile shape. 

Toshiro feels his cheeks flush a bit, a smile curling across his lips. “Only if you promise to be a good student.”

Kakashi clears his throat. “You know, maybe it would be best if we just went home.”

“Absolutely not,” Toshiro laughs, “Keep it in your pants, Kakashi-kun. We promised we’d be there tonight. No backing out now. Besides,” he stops, and Kakashi follows suit. “We’re here.”

The bar isn’t especially crowded, but it’s packed with familiar faces. It’s Gai who sees them first, leaping from his seat at the table and throwing himself at them without thought. Kakashi somehow manages to sidestep with eerie grace, and Toshiro thinks about doing the same — then decides he rather likes Gai. The man’s arms are huge and powerful, but they don’t feel dangerous around Toshiro’s neck, even as the man shakes him back and forth in excitement.

“MY FRIENDS, I’M SO GLAD YOU COULD MAKE IT!” Gai finally releases Toshiro, pulling away with wide, teary eyes. “News of your joining continues to fill me with unending joy! I wish you both great happiness and contentment in every day that comes!”

Kakashi very pointedly tries not to look at Gai, who is outright crying at this point, the usual look of disinterest marred with embarrassment. Trust Gai to make a scene — and trust Kakashi to react to it. They really do bring out sides of each other that no one else can.

“Thank you, Gai,” Toshiro manages to say, unsure if he’s even heard over the waterfall exploding from the jounin’s tear ducts. He slips his arm around Kakashi’s, stopping the man from any attempt at sneaking away. “Why don’t we sit down, I haven’t seen everyone together for a few weeks now.”

The table is really three of them shoved together, chairs pulled from various spots to accommodate the group. Both food and alcohol is laid out across the joined surfaces, cramped to the point where it’s likely everyone is drinking from whichever cup is in sight, no matter who it initially belonged to. 

“Yo,” Genma greets, “If it isn’t Hatake-sama and Hatake-sensei.”

Anko raises a glass of something amber, “THREE CHEERS FOR KAKASHI! He finally tapped some ass!”

A few wolf whistles sound, feet stamping the floor and laughter filling the air. Iruka covers his mouth to hide his guffaw, while Izumo and Kotetsu have no such compunction. Toshiro slides into a seat beside Shisui, who beckoned with exaggerated eagerness. Hoshika is at the Uchiha’s other side, head tipped back and appearing half-asleep even with the ruckus around them.

“Puh-lease!” Shisui smacks Toshiro’s back, “As if Kakashi has the guts to make a move just yet.”

Kakashi slides into the one free space beside Toshiro, throwing a withering glare at the Uchiha over an ashy blond head. A new round of snickering begins, but there’s no malicious intent behind any of it. All their friends are joking in good fun, unable to resist teasing Kakashi — which is understandable. Toshiro can’t even blame them. Everyone is smiling, eyes shiny and cheeks flushed with humor or alcohol. Shoulders and elbows bump, food disappears off plates and out of hands. Anko almost bites off Iruka’s fingers and Ebisu gets a faceful of ponzu sauce. Asuma and Kurenai act like they aren’t holding hands under the table, even though everyone knows they are. 

“Where’s Fuyumi?” He asks Shisui, who’s already half drunk. There’s a spot of rice on his cheek.

“Uh,” Shisui squints his single eye. “Something....about having work to do with a mutual friend of ours. Legal stuff, I guess.”

“Ah,” he says. “She’s working late, huh?” 

“Hm,” The Uchiha shrugs, slumping against his girlfriend, who finally sat up only to stuff her face with takoyaki. “It’s not like this is her scene, anyway.”

That’s fair. “Still, she really does work too much.”

Shisui shrugs, swirling the sake around in his cup. The air is heavy with the scent of it. “She’s a workaholic. Her mom’s been bugging her for months now about getting a boyfriend and marrying. Sucks, but she’s a pretty high up member in the Uchiha bloodline, so she’s expected to carry it on.” He takes a swig, “Pretty sure she’s been set up on like, five dates in the past two weeks.”

“I thought you were cousins,” As in, their parents were  _ actual  _ siblings, “No one’s pushing you and Hoshika?”

“Nah,” the other man shrugs, nudging Hoshika. “We’re all but promised to each other, and it’s a bit different when it’s a Clan-connecting relationship. Fuyu is expected to marry some distant Uchiha and pop out babies that have potential for sharingan.”

“Hm,” Toshiro sips at his glass of strawberry soda, not letting it leave his hand. There’s too much of a chance of it getting swept up by someone else, and he’s not in the mood for accidental alcohol consumption. “What about you? Think your kids have the potential for it?”

“Probably.” Hoshika interjects, discreetly wiping sticky fingers on Shisui’s shirt. “This lug is pretty strong. I’ll be teaching them shadow techniques no matter what, though. Even if they carry the genes for it, our kids might not activate a sharingan. Not to shit on the Uchiha, but I’d almost rather they wouldn’t, even if they could.”

“I get’cha, Hoshi-chan! ‘Cause unlocking them isn’t very fun.” Shisui laughs, but it sounds a bit strained. “Inter-Clan relationships are so messy! Wish they’d just let it be.” 

Toshiro flickers his gaze between his two friends, fingers wet with condensation from the cool glass in his hand. “So, it sounds to me like you’re planning on more than one kid.”

Shisui smacks the table, eye bright, “I want at least five!”

Hoshika snorts. “We’ll see about two. Three if you’re good.”

The scent of cooked meat fills his nose. Toshiro turns his head to the side and barely avoids getting poked in the cheek with a stick of yakitori. Kakashi smiles with his eye, waving the stick back and forth.

“You haven’t eaten yet.”

Toshiro takes the offered food, grease smearing across his fingers. “Neither have you.”

The silver-haired man glances over the array of food before them, one shoulder rising in a shrug. “Not really my thing.” 

“Your taste in food is so bland,” Toshiro teases, taking a bite of the yakitori. “It’s just a little grease and  _ flavor.” _

Kakashi hums, “You’re supposed to be the medic here, and you’re telling me to indulge in junk food?”

“Don’t be a smartass.” Toshiro mutters around the chicken in his mouth.

“Impossible.” It’s Raidou who says this, slouched across the table. “That’s just his personality.”

This sets off another round of laughter, once again at Kakashi’s expense. A drink is forced into the Copy Nin’s hands and more than one person smacks him on the back. Gai very boisterously yells his deepest congratulations once again, and nearly knocks Kakashi out of his seat. Toshiro bursts out laughing as Kakashi flails, Gai’s sturdy arms wrapped around his chest. His knee smacks the table and sends a drink flying. Shisui howls with laughter, rice smeared over his face. 

Kakashi looks begrudging and annoyed, but anyone with eyes can see how he doesn’t move to shove Gai away, nor does he get mad at the teasing.  _ A push-over. _ A man made of gunmetal, with a caramel soft heart. 

When they get home, they don’t do anything more than tumble into bed and sleep.

* * *

Itachi’s first year as Hokage goes well. 

There’s entirely new systems in place for almost every department and Itachi is targeting the influx of paperwork next. The teen rarely ever complains, choosing to keep in whatever irritates him and push through until the issue is resolved. He’s doing well health-wise, though, which Toshiro is happiest about. Itachi still goes to him rather than his father, and Toshiro isn’t sure what to think about that. Their relationship has always seemed a little strained — but Fugaku had been incredibly happy about Itachi’s promotion to Hokage. 

Then again, most fathers would be pretty happy about their child becoming leader of the entire village. Fugaku isn’t a bad man, but even Toshiro knows the guy has calmed down  _ significantly _ from when they’d first talked years ago. Not that there hadn’t been good reason for the man’s grumpy behavior. Shikaku had  _ a lot _ to say about it after looking through the documented abuse of the system. The Uchiha had been, quite literally, almost choked out of Konoha. Trading, resource sharing, intelligence, fear-mongering — there was no mistaking the paperwork, dubious as most of it was. The village had been pulling away. Leaving the Clan on the outskirts.  _ Forcing _ them to — to some end.  _ What  _ end, Toshiro didn’t know. Didn’t want to know. Because that’s over now, and the Uchiha have steadily been repairing those burned bridges.

Plus, he didn’t have all the facts. The clearance for it was beyond him, or at least had been at the time. Now that he’s a Council Member, there’s a lot more of Konoha’s dirty laundry and backwards politics that he’s privy to. Dirty laundry that Itachi is attacking with intense fervor, airing it out into the open air to be cleansed. He’s doing good work. There’s a lot of rot in Konoha, more than Toshiro ever considered. He’d been wrapped up in the children and the hospital — he’d almost forgotten how war was a  _ lifestyle. _ For everyone. Mentalities had to be changed before anything they built could be permanent, could  _ last _ to affect the next generations. 

Orochimaru’s work is the dirtiest laundry Toshiro has ever seen. It’s vulgar, abhorrent work — work with results built on murder, lies and torture. It’s unfortunate that a lot of those results are useful. Obviously, Toshiro has no intention of warping someone’s DNA like what happened with ANBU-san. The collaboration of DNA, however, and the notes describing how to achieve it, are still  _ helpful _ for another goal entirely. 

Baby-making.

Not in the traditional sense, but in the ‘test tube baby’ sense. Splicing DNA to create viable children for people who struggled to conceive — or creating children for same sex couples. It was godlike, having the ability to control chromosomes. The only problem would be that a female couple, both with XX chromosomes, wouldn’t be able to create a male child, who needed XY chromosomes. Inversely, two men could create a male or female child. 

Everything he needs to turn DNA into his puppet, right at his fingertips.

It’s terrifying. 

He has no idea why Itachi trusts him with this kind of information. Maybe it’s because the very idea of performing an  _ experiment _ on another person makes him want to vomit. To be honest, looking at all of this has him  _ this close _ to throwing the files into the air and lighting them up with a katon jutsu — but he won’t. Because this information  _ can _ be used for good, even it makes him feel gross and guilty. 

It would be a waste.

And that’s what infuriates him.

He presses his face into his hands, the files open and sprawled before him. Pages spread and organized by dates across the desk. It’s ugly to look at. 

“If this gets too hard for you—”

He holds up a hand to stop Itachi. The Godaime sits back, fingers steepled on his desk. Toshiro rubs the bridge of his nose. 

“It’s fine. I just hate that we can only do these things  _ because _ of that man.” It’s seriously annoying, almost as much as it is disgusting. “Puts a bad taste in my mouth, having a guy as smart as that still out in the world doing Sage knows what.”

“I’m working on it.” Itachi murmurs. “He’s Konoha’s problem, and it’s high time we took care of it. That being said, I’ve ordered Jiraiya to seek out Senju Tsunade.”

Something uncomfortable lodges in Toshiro’s chest. He’s never met her. He knows what she did as a medic-nin revolutionized medical ninjutsu — but it wasn’t enough. She left Konoha high and dry, taking her skills and drive with her. The plan to implement one medic-nin per team never came to fruition. The hospital fell apart, understaffed and ignored by Council funding. Toshiro is the one who picked up the pieces.

He doesn’t know her. He doesn’t even know her reason for leaving.

Yet…

“I’m not planning on replacing you.” Itachi’s voice cuts through his thoughts. “I intend to personally inform her of Orochimaru’s intentions, and that if she wishes to remain in Konoha’s good graces, she will do whatever she can to aid us in his capture. Whether that be by giving us information, notifying us if she locates him on her travels, or delivering his corpse to us herself — that is up to her. Sandaime-sama was too lax with her release from duty. She is a war hero, but she is also a kunoichi of Konoha.” The teen sits back in the Hokage seat, his dark eyes gleaming in the low evening light. “And there is no paperwork to be found that relieves her of her duties.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly? expect a timeskip im bored af of my own fic ksladjlkds


	22. pollen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW WARNING: u can probably tell when it's starting but ("hey, hey, come over here.") that's when it picks up.

“Are you excited?” Toshiro asks.

The morning sun spills into the dining area from open windows, a warm spring breeze following. Yukimura-sensei wanders in from the kitchen and places another batch of scrambled eggs on the table. Gin’s on his third plate, black mask shoved under his chin and steel eyes glazed as his mind wanders. 

The morning is a little quieter than usual. Naruto hadn’t stayed the night for the past week, opting to hop between Sasuke and Shikamaru’s homes. Chiasa is away on a mission, and has been for a few days now. She isn’t expected home until next week. It’s probably her twelfth C Rank, but it still makes Toshiro nervous to think about what could happen to her while she’s out of the village. He’s never had so many people to care for — and them being children only makes it worse. 

Even if Chiasa is a chunin now, for about three months and counting.

There had been absolutely nothing more nerve-wracking than having to wait at home while Chiasa and her team went to  _ Kumo _ for the Chunin Exams.  _ Kumo. _ Tensions between Konoha and Kumo are still incredibly high even today, the relationship between the two villages being mostly false niceties and sneering behind backs. It isn’t as bad as Iwa — but it’s still pretty bad.

Still, she’d spent an entire month there, missing the New Year’s celebration during her travels. Toshiro would have gone if he could, but apparently the fewer Konoha shinobi they sent, the better.

Now, it was time for the next batch of genin to emerge. 

“I-I guess.” Kojika murmurs, anxiously pushing bits of her half-eaten omurice around on her plate. Her lavender hair is carefully pleated, her plum colored jacket finely pressed, the Hatake clan symbol embroidered in white on her back. Tied around her neck is a Konoha hitai-ate, the metal polished and gleaming, the fabric black. She’d spent hours last night picking out an outfit for today — the day the team placements are announced. 

Kakashi has been completely tight lipped about his own chosen team, not faltering even under the unrelenting heckling of the graduating kids. Toshiro hadn’t dared ask either, preferring to be surprised. It was kind of exciting, actually. More so than his own had been.

(Last night had certainly been exciting, too, and not the way he’d have liked it to be. Instead they had a traitor on their hands and a secret exposed. One that probably should have been known to only Naruto, and not the whole damn village, if Toshiro is being frank about it.)

Naruto was gullible. Trusting. No matter how cruel the village was to him, he still looked up to the shinobi as heroes. He looked up to his  _ teachers _ as heroes. As people he could rely on. Toshiro loves Iruka because the man is probably the closest thing to a father figure Naruto has, even if they dance around the subject. 

So no, it wasn’t Iruka who’d been the one to betray Naruto. According to Kakashi, it had been Mizuki.

_ Mizuki, _ who targeted a freshly graduated Naruto with promises of secret techniques and training. Who told Naruto he ‘saw something in him’. Who coerced Naruto into stealing a scroll, then attempted to murder a twelve year old boy who’d  _ trusted him. _

Toshiro is more than a little pissed.

He has no idea how Mizuki figured out Itachi wouldn’t be in his office that night. Or maybe it was just dumb luck — it wasn’t exactly public news that Itachi was pushing to formally absolve his arranged marriage contract. The Godaime Hokage had been with Fuyumi, arguing his case to the Uchiha Elders and Fugaku. Sasuke graduating earlier that day had been the go-ahead Itachi was waiting for.

Actually, Toshiro should probably ask how that went next time he sees Itachi. Though it’s just as likely a decision hasn’t been made yet due to last night’s  _ event _ interrupting the meeting.  _ Can they really force the Hokage to marry someone, though? _

Paperwork. Politics. It makes Toshiro’s head spin. Medicine and biology are so straightforward — facts of life and all that. The shit the Council and Clans do? Completely manipulative and underhanded. 

At least the next generations will likely be better.

“I am.” Gin finally replies after clearing his plate. “I don’t dislike anyone in our class, so I’m eager to see who I’m placed with.”

“It’s unlikely any of us will be placed together,” Sai comments. His hand slips under the table to feed Kenshin a scrap of bacon. “Children from the same clan are spread out to prevent higher risk targets, and to foster agreeable relations between shinobi of different backgrounds.”

Touma sighs and thumps his head down on the table. “Man, I’m so jealous! I want to graduate already! It’s not fair that I have to wait two years! Even Haruki gets to graduate before me!”

Haruki preens, then squints, “Hey, what’s that supposed to mean!?”

“Boys, don’t fight at the table.” Toshiro sighs. “You’ll get the dogs worked up again.”

Yukimura-sensei finally joins them at the table, laugh-lines prominent as she smiles at the kids. “Oh, you’re all so lively today. You know, I remember my own team placement—”

* * *

Noon comes around and Kakashi is still home. Toshiro looks up from the coffee table, where he’s doing some paperwork that he should probably  _ not _ be doing at a coffee table. The early, cool rays of the morning have faded into Konoha’s familiar bright, bold spring heat. The air is a little muggy from last night’s rain. It’s comfortable enough to wear a plain short-sleeve and slacks, no need for a fan. The house is empty of dogs and children; three waiting for team announcements — actually, by now they should already be spending time with their teams. Which begs the question…

“What are you doing here?” He glances over at the clock hanging on the wall, a gag gift from Shisui that’s in the shape of a cartoon dog. “You’re  _ hours _ late, you jerk.”

Kakashi glances up from his book, the same damn one he’s read a thousand times before. “Is that so?”

Toshiro gives him a very unimpressed look.

It proceeds like that for a few minutes, before Kakashi very casually puts his book away and gets up from the couch. “Oh,” he says, “Would you look at the time. I seem to be running late.”

He then proceeds to hop out the nearest open window, rather than the front door. At least it isn’t another leaf-leaving shunshin. Toshiro rolls his eyes and hides a smile with his palm, turning his attention back to the work before him. If he’s lucky, he’ll finish it all before the kids get back in a few hours.

* * *

The first to come is Gin, about two hours after lunch and an hour after Kakashi left. Trailing behind him are Sasuke and Ino. Tomoe pads after them, her white coat shimmering in the flashes of sunlight. Toshiro looks up from his work. He blinks for a moment, before smiling widely. He can afford to take a break — his legs have started to cramp.

“You three, huh?”

Gin coughs, a bit of pink peeking over the edge of his black mask. “Team 10. Our sensei is Yuuhi Kurenai, a genjutsu specialist.”

“We got a totally kick-ass team!” Ino exclaims, her fist punching the air. “I’m glad I’m not with—”

“Ah,” Toshiro interrupts, holding up a hand, “I don’t want to hear anything about anyone else’s team.” He presses a finger to his lips and winks, “I want to be surprised.”

Ino flushes a little and nods, “Whatever you say, sensei!”

“We’re going to go hang out…” Sasuke says, an absent hand petting Tomoe’s head. “Is it okay if Gin sleeps over tonight?”

“Yeah, yeah!” Ino exclaims, smacking her hands down on Gin’s shoulders and shaking him back and forth. “We gotta plan for Kurenai-sensei’s super secret test tomorrow!”

Sasuke nods, “We can’t afford to lose. Sensei said there’s still a possibility of us not passing her personalized test.”

Their serious and excited faces bring a laugh to Toshiro’s lips. He coughs to cover it up and sends them a soft grin. “Sure, why not? As long as your parents are okay with it. You three can always stay here if need be.” Who knows the state of Fugaku’s temperament right now, with the whole Itachi thing happening. 

“Thanks.” Gin murmurs, still looking a little embarrassed, but happy. 

Ino shoves an arm through each of the boys’, pulling them close to her sides. “Hey, what’s that about, anyway? A test after a test? That’s totally not fair! We already passed, we shouldn’t have to keep jumping through hoops.”

Sasuke elbows her in the side. She elbows him right back. Gin raises his eyes to the ceiling. Neither boy actively moves to pull away. All things considered, they’ll make a good team. Ino and Sasuke both have personalities that serve to push each other, and Gin is a good mediator with a protective streak who isn’t afraid to rein them in. Kurenai...Hm.

“Well, it’s like a test run.” He explains, “To see if you can really function as a team. Working on paper is one thing, but in the real world it’s a little different.”

The three kids look at each other.

“Hmph,” Sasuke tilts his chin to the side, “We don’t need a test like that.”

“Yeah,” Ino chimes in, their shoulders bumping as she hops excitedly. “We’re already the perfect team, I just know it!” She then shakes at Gin’s arm, “Right? Say something!”

“Yeah, yeah,” the steel-eyed boy placates. “We’ll be fine.”

Tomoe’s curled tail thumps against the floor, and she yips in agreement. The pup is almost fully grown — nin dogs and summons grow and age slower than the average — and still working on speech. She can understand them all perfectly fine, but Kakashi said it would be some time yet before she or any of the other Hatake pups can speak for themselves. Some might even just prefer not to learn. 

Toshiro isn’t sure how he’ll feel if all eight dogs end up talking — a house with sixteen voices, not including his, Kakashi’s or Naruto’s? There’s loud, and then there’s  _ loud. _ Sage bless silencing seals…

Gin goes upstairs to get his overnight bag. Ino and Sasuke crowd around Toshiro and ask what he’s doing, then they end up getting into another hair pulling match. Kurenai has her hands full with these two.

All three of them wave and call out goodbyes as they leave, Ino once again tossing her arms around the boys and cajoling them out the door. He can’t quite figure out what their team is for. Kurenai is a genjutsu specialist. He doesn’t know her extremely well, though they are friends — Kakashi is probably more familiar with her abilities. It makes sense, however, to put an Uchiha and a Yamanaka under a genjutsu specialist. Sasuke is likely to become proficient in genjutsu himself, and outside of her own clan, Ino can learn from no one better on how to tear someone’s mind apart. In Gin’s case...well, he seems to be acting as the glue holding them together. He’s a pretty well-rounded boy, with skill in shurikenjutsu, taijutsu and mediation. Toshiro has noted before how well Gin would do as a teacher, with his likeable personality and hard-to-anger temperament. 

_ Interrogation? Information gathering? Genjutsu, social skills, mind transfer… _

Something like that, probably. He’ll ask Itachi about it. 

Kakashi and Sai come back at the same time, Sai with a slight frown on his face, and Kakashi without a care in the world. Kenshin sniffs at Toshiro’s fingers as they pass. 

“What’s that frown for?” 

“I’m unsure of how to feel in regards to my teammates.” The dark haired boy admits. Kakashi hovers awkwardly, listening in.

“Who’d you get?”’ Toshiro asks, gaze flickering to the hovering jounin. The fact that he’s back so soon is odd, if a little expected.

“Team 8 consists of myself, Hinata-san and Kiba. Our jounin sensei is Sarutobi Asuma.” 

Toshiro blinks. “I thought you liked Hinata-chan?”

“She’s nice, but her social anxiety leaves much to be desired during a conflict. It’s unlikely she’ll flourish in an environment where she’s competing with Kiba.” Sai admits without much inflection, “And most of what Kiba wants to do involves competition.”

Kakashi pats Sai’s head, ruffling pin-straight black locks. “Asuma’s a good guy. He’s not the type to favor one student over the other.”

As the son of the Hokage, Asuma is probably used to being ignored or shoved off to the side by someone he looks up to. It’s unlikely he’ll risk his students feeling the same way — and the man really was a good guy. Always quick to smile or tell a joke. A good blend of carefree and responsible...Kurenai chose well. (Because those two aren’t fooling anyone.)

“I see.” Sai nods seriously, “I’ll reserve judgement until further analysis is conducted.”

Toshiro meets Kakashi’s eyes and hides a smile. “So, you didn’t want to spend more time with your team?”

Sai blinks, “No.” Then he leaves the room, Kenshin trotting along after him. 

* * *

Dinner that night is a quiet affair — well, quieter than usual. Asuhi, Takehiko, Sai, and Haruki are the only ones home, and two of those kids barely speak. Sai, being the oldest home, was responsible for watching his youngest siblings as they cleaned up after. He took his job very seriously. It was adorable. Seriously, the kid tries to play it cool but preens like a peacock every time he’s referred to as  _ nii-san _ or  _ Sai-nii _ by his younger siblings. When they all head to bed, Toshiro follows Kakashi into his room. He still has questions about Team 7 — Kakashi’s team — which consists of three children Toshiro can  _ probably _ guess the names of. After all, Kojika is spending the night at the Akimichi compound, her two teammates being Chouji and Shino, forming Team 5 under one —

“Are you serious?”

Kakashi nods, “Entirely.”

Toshiro sits back. “They let  _ Shisui _ teach? And  _ those  _ three?” Some of the quietest kids in the entire graduating class? Kojika and Chouji were both far too kind, and Toshiro hasn’t ever interacted with Shino personally, but the kid didn’t seem aggressive. “What is Itachi thinking?”

“I think he’s hoping Shisui will bring those three out of their shells. All things considered, those three make a good support and retrieval squad. But they all suffer in similar ways, both in terms of social skill and the ability to follow through with attacks.” Kakashi replies, unzipping his vest. “Neither Chouji or Kojika can fathom hurting people. Shino is a little more capable in that regard, but he has a tendency to fade into the background. Itachi probably wants Shino to act as team leader. Shisui will work to instil confidence in all three of them.”

Toshiro hums. That analysis makes sense. And it’s probably better for Shisui to take a break from more hardcore missions, especially since Orochimaru is still out there. Plotting. Being the human personification of mold. Ugh.

“Itachi gave you Shikamaru, Naruto and Sakura, then.” He guesses, following Kakashi’s example and changing out of his day clothes. They’ve been dating for months now, so their rooms hold clothes belonging to both of them. Toshiro bypasses his own clothes and tugs on one of Kakashi’s shirts. It’s barely bigger than his own, perhaps just a size or two larger. Pleasantly loose. It’s the sleep pants that Toshiro has a problem with. Kakashi’s legs are longer, enough that Toshiro needs to roll up the hems three times so he doesn’t trip. _ It’s ridiculous. _

He puts his own sleep shorts on instead. The night is too warm for pants, especially if two bodies are present.

“He gave me a team I can’t fail.” Kakashi muses, slipping a tank top over his head. Toshiro eyes the ripple of back muscles that disappear inch by inch under the black fabric. 

He laughs, “You’re right, I don’t think those three could be anything less than the perfect team.”

Kakashi sighs, mask tugged loose around his chin to give Toshiro a look at the fond exasperation on his face. “They’re something alright. I don’t doubt they’ll pass the bell test. For one, that little brother of yours will see through it in five seconds flat.”

“Five seconds? You underestimate him.” Toshiro smirks, resisting the urge to jump onto Kakashi’s bed. He settles atop it very delicately, thighs peeking out from the cherry red fabric of his shorts.

A single eye flickers along the revealed skin before the man sighs, shrugging his shoulders. “Yeah, yeah. That aside, I already know those three will never abandon each other. Childhood friends are in a league of their own.”

“Good.” He replies, tugging Kakashi down to sit beside him. The man follows easily, until their shoulders touch and their legs are pressed together. Both soft in their loose clothes, warm in the spring night. The moonlight streaming through the window turns Kakashi’s hair white, the pale glow luminous. It makes his dark eye seem fathomless and eerie, the grooves of his scar shadowed and stark against moon-pale skin.

Toshiro forgets where his mind was going. He tilts his chin up and kisses Kakashi, plush and warm — Kakashi’s lips are a little dry. The other man leans in, firming the kiss. His tongue presses at the seam of Toshiro’s closed mouth. 

He pulls away with a laugh, Kakashi trailing after his lips before catching himself. He scoots back on the bed, slipping across the sheets and sprawling out on his back. His shirt slips up to reveal a flash of his waist, pale and scarred and freckled. A palm presses against the wall — and Toshiro is very glad that Kakashi’s bed is shoved against it. Seals light up across the room as he sends a burst of chakra into it. “Hey, hey, come over here.”

_ No one can hear or smell us. Half the kids are gone. _

“You want to…?” Kakashi follows slowly, his eye wide. He situates himself over Toshiro, tense in a way that’s indescribable. It’s hard to tell the difference between Kakashi’s  _ I’m worried _ and  _ I’m anticipatory. _ Toshiro curls his legs around Kakashi’s waist, twines his arms around the man’s neck. Their thighs press together, warm cotton against bare skin. Toshiro’s shorts have ridden up, the hems pooled by his waist, bunched like underwear — which Kakashi can see, if he peeks. (They’re steel gray briefs.)

“Yeah.” Toshiro murmurs, pushing away the heavy shyness threatening to choke him.

They haven’t slept together. Not in the sexual way, though not for lack of trying. They’ve attempted it twice, only to be interrupted both times. And neither of those times had really been started with the idea of ‘going all the way’. That would have to be planned — prep work was needed, after all. And Toshiro isn’t sure which way they’ll be doing it. He doesn’t care, as long as he can have Kakashi.

“Kiss me again.” He whispers against Kakashi’s mouth, and the man complies eagerly.

Sharp teeth prick at his bottom lip, a tongue presses against his own. Kakashi’s technique has improved at an insane rate. Every kiss is analyzed, every kiss gets better.

Every kiss makes Toshiro’s toes curl. Makes him sigh and fidget and tangle his fingers in Kakashi’s wild hair. One hand slips up into that mane, and the strands are just as soft as usual, springy and gravity-defying. His other hand grasps as Kakashi’s back, his legs tightening around the older man’s hips, pulling him closer and closer. Their hips grind, heat pooling between muscled legs. Toshiro feels his blood begin to simmer, slow and steady. Kakashi is a heavy weight atop him, all muscle and sinew, lightning under his skin and thunder in his chest. He presses Toshiro into the mattress with his hips, scarred hands slipping under that loose shirt — that borrowed, stolen shirt — to map skin and scars. 

Kakashi pulls back briefly, saliva damp at the corners of his mouth. His teeth flash dangerously in the dim, pale light, and he glows like a heavenly body. Or a devil. “You don’t want to talk?”

Toshiro grips that silver hair and tugs, rolling his hips to feel the swell of Kakashi’s arousal between his thighs. “And risk being interrupted?  _ No.” _

Kakashi groans, guttural and from the throat. His fingers flicker up and tug at Toshiro’s nipples, sleep shirt stuffed up under his armpits. On the line between careful and frantic — they teeter, hips stuttering and grinding. Strong thighs grow slick and damp with sweat and arousal. Kakashi’s eagerness is endearing, he kisses and sucks along Toshiro’s neck and shifts his hips like he’s trying to meld them together. 

Toshiro’s legs tighten, thighs straining. “A-Ah—” His moan cuts off into a breathy exhale, a calloused thumb rubbing mercilessly against his right nipple as teeth dig into the heaving tendon of his neck. 

Another sound escapes Kakashi in return. He returns to Toshiro’s mouth and they kiss again, slick tongues tangling. Kakashi licks against his teeth and sucks Toshiro’s tongue into his mouth until his eyes roll and he whimpers. His lips feel bitten and red, but he presses back against Kakashi’s mouth with the same intensity, digging his nails into Kakashi’s scalp and swirling his tongue against the roof of the man’s mouth. Kakashi’s hips stutter. Their lips break apart, and panting fills the air alongside the slapping of clothed bodies and creaking of the mattress.

“Shit,” the man mutters, low and hoarse against the swell of Toshiro’s chin.

Toshiro pushes at Kakashi’s chest, and the other man rises almost immediately. They remain locked at the waist, his ankles hooked together to box in Kakashi. In a single, quick movement, Toshiro shoves his shirt off, wondering why he even put it on to begin with.

He watches the bob of Kakashi’s throat as the man swallows, watches that dark eye watch him in return, tracing skin and muscle and bone. A split second later, Toshiro comes to a decision. He unhooks his legs. Kakashi sits back on his heels, hands at his sides and chest heaving. There’s something dark on his face — not menacing, but rather wolf-like.  _ Hungry.  _ That’s the word.

With shaking fingers, Toshiro slips his shorts off. His knees pull up to maneuver them off, and he tries not to think about how completely and utterly he’s just flashed Kakashi — who stares in utter silence, enraptured. 

Toshiro tosses his shorts to the side, and they hit the floor somewhere he can’t see with a muffled thump. His chest feels like an utter mess of anxiety and heat and terror, every insecurity bubbling to the surface and warring with desire, with the factual evidence that lays before his eyes.  _ Kakashi wants him. _ (In any way he can.)

Toshiro can understand that feeling.

He lets his legs fall open.

A sound is punched from Kakashi’s lungs. Inhuman, desperate — his hands shake even harder than Toshiro’s, finding their way to Toshiro’s knees and sliding carefully down his bare thighs. The look on his face — lips parted, red blazing across his cheeks and spreading to his forehead, sharingan eye slipping open so both peer down at Toshiro’s naked form, seering the image into Kakashi’s mind forever. 

Toshiro feels like his lungs are swelling, like his heart wants to jump ship and run far, far away. He feels heat bloom across his face, his ears, down his neck and chest. Some twisted form of eagerness and humiliation is birthed in his gut. His mouth is dry. He hears his pulse throb throughout his body. His cock is heavy and flushed against his hip, slick and dripping with arousal. 

Kakashi swallows again, his limbs awkward and gangly, like he’s a teenager discovering porn for the first time. (How ironic.) He pushes Toshiro’s legs even further apart, thumbs rubbing against the soft, ticklish skin of his inner thighs. And then he just —

Stares.

And keeps staring.

“If you don’t do something in the n-next two seconds, I’m putting my pants back on.” Toshiro only stutters once, though every word is a struggle to get out.

“Nnhgk—” Kakashi blinks as if waking from a dream, a very dumb and adorable look on his flushed, mortified face. “Sorry. Uh, you. I was. Uh.”

Ears burning, Toshiro slips his hands down his body, shielding his erection from Kakashi’s penetrating gaze. “You’re staring.”

“I was trying to.” Kakashi mutters, looking balefully down at Toshiro’s hands. 

Toshiro huffs, the suffocating feeling in his chest reading a little. “Normally someone would take a hint and take their clothes off too.”

“Yeah.” Kakashi nods absently, then pauses as the words register in his head. “Oh.  _ Oh. _ Yeah.”

In one smooth motion, he pulls his tank top off his body, revealing willowy, defined muscles that Toshiro has seen a thousand times before. They’re just as stunning as the first time. His pants follow shortly after, tossed to the side without care, probably slightly torn with how quickly they were ripped from Kakashi’s body. It leaves them both naked and flushed. Abs clench and ripple as Kakashi leans forward, his hips slotting close to Toshiro’s, tugging thighs around his waist once more. The sight makes Toshiro’s cock twitch, the movement obvious. It makes his breath catch in his throat when Kakashi notices. The man’s pupil’s dilate, the red of his sharingan flashing against his pale skin — his own arousal is heavy and pressed to Toshiro’s thigh, burning the sensitive skin. 

Toshiro has to shut his eyes against the sight, body trembling. He’s seen thousands of bodies, he’s given hundreds of sponge baths. A dick is nothing.  _ A dick is nothing. _

Except apparently it is, when it’s Kakashi’s. Engorged and flushed a deep red, resting against Toshiro’s skin just inches from his own throbbing, dripping cock. He opens his eyes again, breathing through his nose. 

“Do you want to stop?” Kakashi asks, even though he sounds like he’s about to die.

Toshiro snaps his hips up sharply, their cocks sloppily rubbing together. “Absolutely not.”

Kakashi moans, teeth gritting to muffle the sound. Lightning-kissed hands shift, one grasping at a thigh, fingers digging into the muscle — the other sits by Toshiro’s head, his elbow presses into the mattress as he leans his weight to hover over the younger man’s form. Their naked bodies are glowing wraiths in the dim light, flashing silver and beige. Kakashi sticks his cold nose against Toshiro’s sweaty neck and breathes deeply, nipping with too-sharp teeth and suckling bruises into the skin. 

It’s messy. The movements are embarrassing and awkward and — them. Completely and utterly them. Their hips hump frantically, cocks sliding against slicked skin, against each other; the friction both too much and not enough all at once. Everytime their arousals bump and slip along one another, Toshiro feels his abs clench and his toes curl. Honey-sweet heat pools in his gut. His blood sings, the molten, cotton-fluff feeling spreading slowly from his rolling hips to the rest of his body, until his fingers tingle and his tongue is numb. 

_ “Yes _ —” he moans, high and keening, nails raking down Kakashi’s tensed back. They’re messing around like teenagers and it’s fine. It’s everything. It’s building heat and nervous, stuttering movements and sharp, sharp teeth and eyes that spin. “Oh,  _ Oh.” _

Kakashi moans against his neck, mouth sloppy and teeth drawing blood. He pulls back and they breathe the same air. Kakashi’s tongue dips and trace’s Toshiro’s lips. “M-Maybe we should—” He starts to say, hand slipping up Toshiro’s thigh towards their aching cocks.

“No,” Toshiro gasps, “Nn, ah, don’t. Wanna — Wanna do it like this.”

His head feels foggy. It’s probably not nearly as exciting as he’s making it out to be, but with Kakashi everything feels like it’s turned to the max. Touching himself suddenly feels like nothing compared to the frantic, wet slide of their cocks bumping and grinding against flushed flesh. 

“This pos-position makes it— hn, oh _ , oh, oh, fuck, yes!”  _ Another moan tears itself from his lips as the feelings get stronger, and his body vibrates with a wild sort of desperation. “Feels like—  _ oh, ah, Kashi  _ —” His back arches off the bed, blunt nails pressing grooves into Kakashi’s shoulder blades. “Like you’re in-inside me!”

“Nnh!  _ Ah, fuck.”  _ Kakashi’s body shudders, going taut like a bow. He growls like a wounded dog and sinks his teeth deeply into the side of Toshiro’s neck, and the pain-pleasure-pain makes Toshiro scream. He’s suddenly very thankful they installed those seals. 

“I want that,” Kakashi mutters, voice high and thrumming, his lips forming words against the battered skin he’d ravaged. “Wanna be inside you, want you inside me, I don’t care — oh,  _ ah, I want you.”  _ Like a dying man, he gasps, hips stuttering, “Want you, want you—”

“I’m— I’m— Kakashi, Kakashi, Kakashi!” He chants his lover's name, sweet and loud and eager. Toshiro feels a galaxy implode under his skin, tastes sugar dust on his tongue. The too-sweet burn of arousal crests and pulses. His cock shudders weakly and his hips freeze and snap desperately in an animalistic rut. He screams again, Kakashi’s weight pinning him in place, Kakashi’s skin sweaty and too hot and driving him past pleasure and into over-stimulation as the man chases his end.  _ “Cumming!” _

A sob, and wet heat splashes between them. 

Kakashi’s hands bruise his skin; press red marks into his supple, sensitive flesh. His nails and teeth slice and draw blood, his mouth curls around a pink, shivering nipple and  _ sucks. _

Toshiro howls, legs shaking and body arching. Kakashi’s hips continue humping against his, unrelenting through Toshiro’s orgasm. He tugs weakly at the man’s silver hair, toes curled and heels thumping against Kakashi’s lower back.

Kakashi licks blood from Toshiro’s lips and sticks his tongue into his open, moaning mouth. With a sharp grunt, and a whimper, his hips finally settle. Cum splashes between their legs once more, and Toshiro feels the combined dampness slide down his skin, past his balls and pool in the sheets below his ass.

_ We’ll have to change those, _ he thinks dazedly. Kakashi’s body slumps against his own weakly, and they catch their breath as one. The air is hot and heavy with the scent of sex. Toshiro shuts his eyes when Kakashi rolls to the side, splaying in the sheets next to him. He lets the heady afterglow relax him, ignoring the cooling wetness across his stomach, dick and thighs. That can be a later problem. A five minutes from now problem.

Kakashi clears his throat. “We should do that again sometime.”

“Inside me, right?” He teases, still catching his breath.

“Sure,” Kakashi says, “Yes. Actually, do you think you can get it up again? There’s a scene in Icha Icha—”

Toshiro grabs the pillow from under his head and slams it over Kakashi’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is my first time writing smut, pls dont kill me i literally died


	23. second bud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which many things start happening and children are children so they do, in fact, go through puberty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i keep forgetting to mention but im also writing another si/oc fic so if u wanna check that out that would be rad and i'll only cry a little

“I’m going to work.” The sun isn’t even peering over the horizon yet, but Toshiro is up and moving already. Kakashi grunts from the bed, silver hair a bird’s nest and eyes peering bleary from a pile of blankets. Toshiro snickers and leans over the sleepy man, pressing a kiss to the scarred part of Kakashi’s brow. 

Kakashi brushes his fingers across Toshiro’s wrist, coming further into wakefulness. “How long is your shift?”

“Twelve hours.” He sighs. “You got a mission?”

“D ranks.” The Copy Nin sighs gustily. “With the little terrors.”

Toshiro laughs softly, tying his hair up into the usual tight bun. “You love them, don’t even try to lie.”

Kakashi grunts again and pulls the covers up over his head. 

Toshiro pats the misshapen lump that is his boyfriend before heading out. He creeps through the house silently, moving through the darkness with ease. The sound of birds chirping registers in his ears as he strolls out of the compound. From the slight muggy feel in the air, it’s likely to be a hot day. Summer is just around the corner, and Toshiro has never been more glad for air conditioning.

Konoha heat will put anyone on their ass. 

By the time he reaches the hospital, it’s about 5AM and sunrise has turned the sky pink and orange. The graveyard staff greets him on his way in, and he waves to an exhausted looking Tsutomu-sensei. Her shift should be over in another two hours. He envies her, because he’ll be here until 5PM and he’s already dreading it. He doesn’t hate working at the hospital — never. He loves it. 

_ But the paperwork. _

Who knew holding a position of power meant constantly sitting at a desk? It’s been about two years and he’s still unaccustomed to the change. Working on his feet just comes naturally to him. He can’t stand not being on the floor for  _ hours. _

“Aikawa-sensei,” A voice calls, stopping him when he’s halfway to his office. It’s Kabuto, the light glinting of his glasses and a disarming smile on his face. “Long shift ahead of you?”

“Yeah, you?”

The younger teen shakes his head, “I’m actually just finishing up.”

“Don’t overwork yourself,” Toshiro says, frowning lightly. “You’re still young. You shouldn’t be spending so much time here.”

“Oh, no!” Kabuto laughs, “I rather enjoy my time here, it’s great experience for the future. Besides, you’ve inspired me a lot. I heard you were already running the Trauma Department at fifteen.”

Toshiro chuckles awkwardly, “Different times back then, I suppose. The point of all this change is to let kids be kids a little longer. You shouldn’t be in such a hurry to grow up.”

Kabuto tilts his head, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

_ What an odd kid, _ Toshiro thinks. Then again, most shinobi are. Kabuto has been working at the hospital for awhile now, but Toshiro still doesn’t know much about him. The boy is an orphan, and a few years older than Chiasa. He has an analytical mind and is quick to smile — sometimes he reminds Toshiro of himself. Except there’s always something… eerie about the boy. It’s weird. Toshiro feels a little bad about judging Kabuto based on a feeling — then again,  _ Shinobi. _ Trusting your instincts will save your life.

(Not that he thinks his life is in danger here.)

They say their goodbyes and Toshiro continues on to his office. It’s been victim to multiple interior design changes since he first got it two years ago — most noticeably? His plant collection...

_ Has grown. _

There’s a big pot shoved in the corner, bamboo sprouting tall enough to brush the ceiling. His mint, spider and cactus plants are joined by three different bonsais and a very cute pot of pink lilies. He’s starting to run out of space. (And no, he won’t get rid of  _ any _ of his plants to make room.) What else is he supposed to stare at while he’s trudging through all his boring paperwork? White walls? He’ll literally go insane! 

The first order of business is crafting the correct paperwork to submit to Itachi regarding  _ Project Test Tube Baby. _ Orochimaru is still a piece of shit, but his work is revolutionary, and Toshiro has enough spite to use the man’s work for good. There are a lot of people out there who can’t conceive, or who are in a same sex relationship and unable to have children. Using Orochimaru’s work to make other people happy when it didn’t work to make  _ Orochimaru _ happy was like a slap to the face. And damn, did Toshiro really want to slap that snake bastard in the face.

Some degree of testing has to be done to see if Toshiro really can replicate it — and he doesn’t even have to dissect literally children to do so. 

What this will also do is create an incredible argument in support of the LGBT+ community. The biggest issue that Clans have is that they need children to continue their bloodlines, or more specifically,  _ heirs. _ It forced gay clan members into loveless, twisted marriages all in the hopes of  _ promoting  _ a strong bloodline. For whatever reason, the Main Line’s in a clan are treated like royalty and expected to continue _ no matter the cost. _ Even if that cost is unhappiness and pain. If Toshiro can push this through….

Clan Elders and Council Members will have no reason to forbid same-sex marriages. (Unless they continue pushing for power-play arranged marriages. Which is infinitely more troublesome, as the Nara would say.)

He pens the final line in his rough draft. It’s already five pages long, and he might have gotten a little bit carried away in his excitement. There’s definitely a good chunk of rambling about the project that he can scratch out — this is just for approval, after all. The rest can be discussed in person, once Itachi  _ does _ approve it.

Because there’s no doubt in his mind that Itachi will. 

Toshiro smiles to himself and wipes a bead of sweat from his nose. When his hand comes away, he notices that it’s ink-stained and he curses. 

He spends the next five minutes removing ink blotches from his face.

* * *

Kakashi brings his team around for lunch some days. Toshiro supposes it’s harder to lose kids that already know where you live (and already frequent that very place) and Kakashi seems resigned to being followed around by three duckling genin. Kakashi and Shikamaru play shogi on the engawa while Toshiro has Sakura practicing the mystical palm technique. Naruto spends his time blowing through his seal work with an ease that surprises even Kakashi, who’s one of the few remaining to have closely interacted with an Uzumaki’s fuuinjutsu before. Asuhi’s calligraphy is still slightly better, but Naruto’s talent for new and innovative seals remains unparalleled. 

Team 7 is being trained for three specializations — which seems like a lot, but it’s not when you consider what they are. High-Operation Tactics, Sabotage, and Subterfuge. The three go hand in hand, or fall together closely enough that it only makes sense to lump them under the same team. 

What most don’t realize is that genin are slotted into positions young, their paths chosen based on their best skills. Itachi is building the future with the current genin teams, and Team 7 is designed to  _ take over. _ The three genin are set to  _ easily _ fit into positions of power once they hit the sufficient rank. Shikamaru is definitely expected to succeed his father as both Jounin Commander and Tactician — Toshiro’s proclaimed little brother would make a good Hokage, but he has no motivation to rule over an entire village, nor does he strive for that kind of power.

Sakura, on the other hand, is someone Toshiro could see as either  _ his _ future successor, or the next ANBU Commander, depending on which way she goes. Naruto, obviously, wants to be Hokage. He just might make it too, and if he doesn’t he’ll still end up as one the few coveted Seal Masters in the world and likely put in charge of the Fuuinjutsu Corps.

Team 10 under Kurenai is built for Capture and Interrogation, and according to Itachi they’re also considered pre-ANBU. Loathe as the man is to put his own brother on such a squad, there is no denying it had been a good decision. Ino, Sasuke and Gin make a good team. Kurenai, especially, is good for Ino, training out the last of the Yamanaka’s poor habits. Ino is spirited, but she’s also prone to following civilian fads and focusing more on fashion than functionality. Sasuke helps in that department too, making sure to aim for all the bare skin Ino had shown upon revealing her brand new ‘genin outfit’. She walked away from that fight with too many bruises and a scowl — but at least the girl has wisened up on what is and isn’t appropriate shinobi attire. 

The three of them seem to be attached at the hip, always wandering from one compound to the next, having sleepovers almost every night and barely eating meals without all three being present. It’s very cute.

Today, the three of them are here at the Hatake Compound. Gin and Ino are practicing a duo move — or a trio move, with Tomoe involved — and Sasuke has wandered over to Toshiro and Sakura. 

“I don’t know much,” he admits when Toshiro asks, “But Aniki can do it, and it’s a good skill to have.”

Toshiro glances at Sakura, who looks quickly back at her fish, pretending she hadn’t been staring at Sasuke. “Well,” he murmurs, “Why don’t I teach you a few chakra control tricks, and you ask Kurenai about letting me teach you a bit of medical ninjutsu.” 

For all intents and purposes, when it concerns a genin’s training the jounin-sensei has to know  _ everything.  _ That way no training errors are had, like overworking or chakra exhaustion. Sakura has it easy with Kakashi as her sensei. The silver-haired man had accepted without a single extra second of thought. 

Sasuke frowns a little but doesn’t complain, having outgrown his ‘childish’ nagging. He settles next to Sakura and she flushes a deep pink but continues working on her fish. 

“You know the leaf trick, right?” Toshiro asks, plucking a few bright green leaves from one of the flowering bushes the Hatake’s backyard boasts. 

“Yeah,” the boy nods. “That’s a beginner’s trick. We learned it in the  _ Academy.”  _ Sasuke says it like it’s an insult.

Toshiro huffs in amusement. “Well, consider this the next step.” He places three of the leaves on his lower arm, bare due to the dark short-sleeve he’s wearing. The leaves stick, then begin to spin in slow, lazy circles. After a moment they start to dance in a line, moving like a snake around the width of his freckled forearm. 

Sasuke blinks at the sight, perking up. The frown fades from his lips. “How are you doing that?”

Toshiro passes the leaves to the young Uchiha. “You have the first part down, which is using a carefully controlled portion of your chakra to hold the leaf in place against your skin without letting it fall or shredding it. What I’m doing here is exerting even  _ more _ control over that miniscule chakra and moving it.”

“Like how you gather chakra to your lungs for a fireball jutsu!” Sasuke exclaims, pressing the leaves to the pale skin of his arm. “I can feel it moving then, so this is like that, right?”

“Yeah, except this is harder because it’s so small. And there’s more than one.” Toshiro ruffles the boy’s blue-black hair, laughing as the kid squirms away with flushed cheeks. “Start with one at a time, then work your way up. You can also ask Sakura if you need help.”

Sakura squeaks and her fish flops wildly for a moment. Sasuke tosses her a look, but then eyes the heavy green chakra formed around her hands. His mouth sets into a determined line. Toshiro purses his lips and wonders if he’s accidentally sparked a rivalry, one-sided as it might be. When he glances away, he catches sight of Gin turned in their direction.

Tomoe is slobbering over Ino’s hands, distracting the girl for a second. Gin has his steel gray eyes on Sasuke, his brow furrowed in contemplation. Those eyes of his are much more expressive than Kakashi’s, and there’s two of them visible. Even with his little mask, his expressions are slightly easier to read. After a second, Gin flickers his gaze to Sakura.

“Interested in learning?” 

Gin starts at Toshiro’s call, and when Sakura looks up in curiosity, their eyes meet. The mousy-haired boy flushes awkwardly and quickly turns to look at Toshiro. “No. Maybe.” He shrugs, “I mean, I’ll probably try to pick some basic training for it, but I don’t think it really suits me.”

Toshiro shrugs, understanding. “It’s not for everyone.” And it really isn’t. Sometimes it’s a matter of skill, other times of interest. Medicine itself isn’t something you went into half-assed. Gin and Ino resume their training, Tomoe barking at their heels. It looks more like they’re just play-wrestling, the thought of a duo (trio?) move long forgotten. 

Sasuke looks at Sakura’s slight smile, then at Gin’s flushed ears. The leaves slip from his arm. 

* * *

Shisui strolls in the front door without knocking. This isn’t completely unusual, because at this point in their lives they’ve become close enough to ignore quite a few social boundaries. As long as Kakashi doesn’t mind, both Shisui and Hoshika have an open-door policy. (So does Itachi, but can you really turn away the Hokage?)

What’s unusual is the expression on the man’s face. He’s staring into space, Kojika clinging to his front like a koala and dead asleep to the world. He has one arm hooked under her and another splayed across her back to stop her from tumbling to the ground. Her lavender hair spills over one shoulder, and her cheek is smushed into the puffy collar of Shisui’s jounin vest. Rin trots at his heels, quiet on purpose and butting the back of Shisui’s knees to wake him from his bleary-eyed state.

“What’s the matter?” Toshiro whispers, feeling something soft and gooey in his chest at the sight of his friend carefully laying Kojika down on the couch. She clings briefly to his vest, and Shisui pulls her limbs from his body without waking her. 

The Uchiha takes his time answering, which is odd. His usual energy is muted, the excitement replaced with a manic kind of gleam. He taps his fingers on his thigh, hovering over Kojika for a second. 

“Shisui?”

The man starts, then blinks. “Oh. Uh. I just.” He runs a hand through his wild curls, dark eyes darting from side to side. Toshiro doesn’t know if the man is going to burst out of his skin or flee. “I’m pregnant.”

Almost reflexively, Toshiro purses his lips. “You know, I’m not sure that’s possible.”

Shisui is in Toshiro’s space within the next moment, eyes flashing and a wild grin on his mouth, “No, no, Hoshika’s pregnant.  _ We’re _ pregnant. There’s a baby Shi-Hoshi cookin’ in her perfectly perfect uterus.”

“What?” Toshiro gasps, the news hitting him slowly. He runs the words through his mind a few times.  _ Pregnant. Hoshika’s pregnant. _ “Oh my Sage, she’s  _ pregnant?” _

They grasp at each other’s arms and Shisui hops up and down, unable to contain himself. After a second, Shisui forgoes the awkward jumping and heaves Toshiro into the air.

“Whoa—” he exclaims softly, but laughs under his breath and balances his hands on Shisui’s shoulders. “Shisui, I can’t believe it!”

“Neither can I!” The Uchiha replies, dropping Toshiro back to the ground after twirling them around in circles. He swallows audibly, hands shaking against Toshiro’s arms. “I’m gonna be a  _ dad.” _

“When did you learn this? How far along is she? Have you told anyone else—”

“An hour ago. Nine weeks. No.” Shisui answers rapidly, and there’s sweat dotting his brow. “I’m gonna be a  _ dad, _ Shiro-chan.”

Toshiro takes his friends hands from his arms, squeezing them tightly. He grins, wide and far softer than the half-crazed expression on his best friend’s face. “You’re gonna be a dad!”

“I’m gonna be a dad!” Shisui repeats, and then they both laugh.

Completely forgetting about their sleeping audience. 

“Sensei?” Kojika’s sleepy voice interrupts, and they both cease laughing with wide, startled eyes. The two men glance at each other, then at the lavender-haired girl who squints at them in adorable confusion.

“Oh my Sage,” Toshiro whispers, coming to a very sudden conclusion, “You need to get married  _ immediately.” _

* * *

“Are you excited?” Toshiro asks, seated before Itachi in the Hokage’s office. He’s there on business, but of course he can’t help but have a bit of friendly conversation beforehand.  _ Especially  _ when it concerns something like this.

Itachi folds his hands, a subtle smile gracing his lips. His long lashes flutter with every blink, an expression of joy seeping past his normally stoic exterior. “I am.” He glances at Toshiro, “I’ve been named as godfather, you get the next child.”

Toshiro laughs. He finds himself doing that a lot these days. “That’s perfectly fine with me, I’ve got more than enough children to look after at the moment.” And Godparent or not, he’ll love any of his friend’s children just the same. 

“Their current issue lies with the response from the clans. I expect more unrest within the Uchiha than the Nara.” The Hokage murmurs, “It seems we’re due for a marriage soon, perhaps before the official announcement of pregnancy is made.”

“There’s no way the Nara don’t already know.” He comments, thinking of the Nara and their dark, intelligent eyes. A whole clan of people too smart for their own good. “And any woman who’s given birth will clock her in an instant.”

Itachi doesn’t attempt to deny the claim, another smile twitching at his mouth. He sits back in his seat to signal the end of the conversation. “Let’s not concern ourselves with issues they’ve created on their own.”

Toshiro places the final draft of his proposal on Itachi’s desk, knowing that the fact he gets a one-on-one meeting with the Hokage so easily is a blatant sign of preference. (And he doesn’t feel bad about using that, not for this. It would be impossible to get such a thing past the Council, half of them were homophobic.) 

“It’s all here. Well, the proposal is — other details can be discussed after approval.”

Itachi nods and skims over the report, flipping through the pages and documentation. His medical knowledge isn’t as extensive as Toshiro’s, but he knows enough to grasp the concept of some of the more complicated information. “This is using  _ his _ data, isn’t it.”

“Yes.” 

The teen hums, eyes still flickering over the papers. A shadow passes over his face before something vicious settles there. “Good.” Itachi shuts the folder. “I approve. Your budgeting expectation for the first testing phase can be covered easily. Keep me updated on the project. You have a team prepared?”

It’s not unexpected, but Toshiro still feels a swell of relief. “Of course, and yes, I’ve selected a team. Uchiha Tetsuya, Nara Okushika and Matsushima Kanna are going to be the forerunners.”

“Tetsuya is an interesting choice.” Itachi comments.

Toshiro shrugs, “He’s one of the best.” The Uchiha is only seventeen, but still easily almost as skilled as Toshiro is now. The younger boy took to medical ninjutsu like a fish to water — in fact, he’d been specifically recommended by Yukimura-sensei, who runs most of the classes. Kabuto has two years on Tetsuya, but something keeps holding Toshiro back from letting the man into more serious medical projects. The easy normality doesn’t match with the slimy feel of the man’s chakra. It’s almost  _ overly _ sterile. Kabuto is brilliant — of course he is. He might even be better than Toshiro.  _ Major serial killer vibes though. _

“I’m glad to hear that.” Itachi seals away the file in one of his desk drawers, gaze flickering to the setting sun outside.

Toshiro stands, tucking a stray ashy blond lock behind his ear. The cherry studs glint in the glare of the fading light. “Thanks for meeting with me at the last minute, Itachi. Don’t work so hard. Seriously.” He gives the young Hokage a  _ look. _ “Sasuke will tell me no lies.”

Itachi exhales sharply through his nose, amused. “I promise, sensei.”

When he’s halfway out the door, Toshiro turns back to point a threatening finger at Itachi, “And don’t think I won’t notice if you keep skimping on meals and snacking on dango. I  _ will _ bribe your ANBU to watch your food intake.”

* * *

Thinking about Shisui and Hoshika’s inevitable wedding (to keep up appearances and clan relations, even if they would have gotten around to it eventually) makes Toshiro think about Itachi’s situation. The Godaime Hokage, freed from his right as next in line for Uchiha Clan Head, had also managed to break the marriage contract with Uchiha Izumi. The young man had less than a two month window to argue his case — the time between Sasuke’s graduation and Itachi’s eighteenth birthday — and he’d managed to do it with Fuyumi’s help within a  _ week. _

_ It had been a bit of a mess, _ Itachi privately confessed one night. Izumi-san had feelings for Itachi and seemed rather heartbroken, though accepting of her unrequited love. Less than two months before wedding bells threw off a lot of scheduling as well, but at least it’s done. While Toshiro can’t deny Fuyumi’s prowess when it comes to politics and legal knowledge, he’s pretty sure a lot of the grudging acceptance was due to the fact that Itachi is  _ Hokage. _ And when it came down to it, no one could force him into a marriage. He’d also already brought honor to the Uchiha Clan with his status, and it was probably better to break off the potential heartbreak before it could fully occur. The Uchiha Clan took matters of the heart very seriously, though most would never expect this to be true. 

Speaking of Fuyumi, Toshiro hasn’t seen her for a while now. He wonders if she’s still busy with that  _ mutual friend _ Shisui spoke of. (He has a few guesses as to who it could be — top of the list being that Cat ANBU.) The reason she’s helping, he doesn’t know. But Fuyumi is the best, so it must be rather important.

_ Damn, _ he should have asked Itachi about her. 

“I’m home!” He calls, closing the door behind him gently. A crowd of voices echo a reply, accompanied by the happy barking of at least four dogs.

Toshiro comes home to a mostly full house — Kojika is over at Chouji’s, and Gin is staying with Sasuke again. In exchange, Chiasa’s team is over for dinner and Team 7 is still hanging around. Hyuuga Atsuzumi is a serious boy with a stern expression who flinches far too often. He gets into spats with Chiasa on multiple occasions, and doesn’t appreciate how easily the girl cuts him down and dissects his personality.  _ A personality that is born from abuse and lack of power _ — because Atsuzumi is a branch member of the Hyuuga Clan. He wears the Caged Bird Seal on his forehead, hidden under his hitai-ate like it brings him shame. 

It shouldn’t. If anything, it should bring the  _ Main Branch _ shame for ever  _ daring  _ to mark over half of their clansmen as lesser at birth. 

The two still argue from time to time, but they aren’t genin anymore and all three (four, including Saki) of them are still together. They move like a well oiled machine, so Toshiro knows none of their arguments are serious. Tsushika plays mediator most of the time, and is actually  _ team leader _ — because the three of them applied to form a standard chuunin squad. Team Tsushika will continue to operate as a unit even after any future promotions. 

Toshiro is pretty sure they plan on tackling ANBU, as they were set up to. 

He’s also not sure Branch Hyuuga are even allowed to  _ be _ ANBU. 

( _ We’re working on it, _ is all Chiasa had said, a glint in her eye that reminded Toshiro of himself.)

Her hair’s a little longer now. She’s growing like a weed, too, reaching 5’6” with ease. That’s already taller than Toshiro by an inch, and he can’t even be mad about it. Tsushika hovers about three inches shorter, and Atsuzumi clocks in at a mere centimeter below Chiasa. The boy vehemently denies being shorter, however, which is amusing in itself to watch because Tsushika has a way of using a bland tone to tease that drives the boy crazy. Toshiro is almost convinced it’s a genetic trait of the Nara — because Shikamaru is the same way.

Well, less with the teasing, more with just blunt comments. It’s still the same dull, monotone voice though. Like he’s not even interested in the very words he’s speaking. (Until someone messes with his friends, then suddenly his voice is a knife.)

“What’s for dinner?” Toshiro asks, stopping by Kakashi to messily smooch the man on the forehead, laughing when the kids make various noises of disgust. Chiasa and her team are in the kitchen, the cooks of the night. The table is already set with salmon, rice, miso soup and what looks like tofu. “Whoa, you guys really went all out.”

“Atsuzumi chose the recipes.” Chiasa says, placing the final set of utensils at the table. “That’s why it’s so traditional.”

The Hyuuga clears his throat, a faint flush on his pale cheeks, “I find it perfectly acceptable.”

“Kakashi-san will love it, I’m sure.” Tsushika says without inflection, dropping heavily into her chosen seat. “Perfectly bland.”

“There’s nothing wrong with a traditional dinner,” Toshiro manages to say, “Thank you for cooking.” He doesn’t even try to hide his amused look, glancing at Kakashi to see a complicated expression filtering across the triangle of the man’s visible face.

Atsuzumi sniffs, “It was no strain, Hatake-sama. Thank you for having us over.”

Kakashi coughs a little at the title, while Toshiro has already accepted the fact that half the village probably thinks his last name really  _ is _ Hatake by now.

After dinner, they settle into the usual routine. Kakashi reluctantly faces Shikamaru in shogi, Sakura and Naruto hanging off their teammate’s shoulders and trying to give advice. Haruki and Touma pester Chiasa and her team for missions stories while Takehiko and Asuhi scribble away with coloring books on the coffee table, Sai overseeing their progress like a vaguely proud teacher. Toshiro settles by Kakashi’s side and whispers bad shogi advice into the man’s ear, smiling when the children across from them giggle and laugh. 

Naruto hooks his chin on Shikamaru’s shoulder and the Nara lets him, a red flush painting his tan cheekbones. Sakura ends up dozing against the boy’s side, drooling on Shikamaru’s arm. Under the shogi board, Kakashi lets Toshiro hold his hand.

* * *

“It’s only supposed to be two weeks.” Kakashi reminds him, a pack slung over his shoulder. He’s thirty minutes late to meet his team already. “Try not to miss me too much.”

Toshiro rolls his eyes and kisses the man, standing on his tip-toes and wrapping his arms around the jounin’s strong shoulders. Kakashi kisses back carefully, mindful of his teeth for once. When Toshiro pulls away he leans in to follow, always reluctant to stop.  _ What an awkward, sappy man. _

“Be safe,” he says in return, pulling up Kakashi’s mask for him and trailing his fingers over the bridge of the man’s nose and across pretty cheekbones. “Don’t let Sakura practice her medical ninjutsu without your supervision.”

“Two weeks.” Kakashi reminds, his voice grave. “They’ll drive me crazy.”

Toshiro rolls his eyes and shoves Kakashi out the door. “Seriously, get out of here you drama queen.”

Chiasa appears by Toshiro’s shoulder in the next moment, her footsteps soft but purposefully audible. “Good luck, nii-san.”

“Maa, I’ll need it.” The man curves his eye to indicate a smile and leaves with a backward wave.

Chiasa blinks at the position of the sun in the sky, then turns to Toshiro with a grave expression. “He probably will.”

Toshiro snorts, “You’re right. One of these days, those kids really  _ will _ kill him for being too late.”

They turn back inside and Toshiro shuts the door. It’s mid-morning and Haruki, Touma, Asuhi and Takehiko are in classes. Gin is with Ino and Sasuke, but Sai is still home. He hasn’t been spending a lot of time with his team outside of the mandatory training and missions. It’s a little worrisome, but not every team match-up is perfect. What’s on paper doesn’t always translate to reality — despite their potential, Sai and Kiba just  _ don’t  _ get along. The Inuzuka has a temper and blows up over small slights, and Sai...is not tactful. Hinata is too soft to play mediator, her voice lost under the arguing boys. There’s still hope, but Asuma has his work cut out for him.

“Sai, Kenshin.” Toshiro sighs when he sees the boy drawing away with his ninken in the living room. The two in question glance up, Kenshin’s ears flicking forward.

Sai blinks in unison with his ninken. “Yes?”

“Why don’t you try picking your team members up before you’re set to meet? Or try inviting them to dinner?”  _ Anything. Honestly. _

The pale boy frowns, dark brows pulling down slightly. “Do I have to?”

“No…but I’d like it if you did.”

Sai doesn’t look too happy, but he nods. “I’ll see if they’re willing to come over for dinner sometime this week. I don’t expect to hear positive answers, or for anything to come of it.”

“As long as you try.” Toshiro ruffles the boy’s hair. “It can’t hurt, and they’re going to be your team members for at least six months. Don’t toss them aside just yet.”

Sai looks down, brief conflict in his expression. “I see.”

Toshiro glances back at Chiasa, who hovers awkwardly. He nods to Sai, and she blinks rapidly. Her eyes light up after a moment of thought and she nods at his silent request. 

“Come, little brother.” She says, holding out her hand. 

Sai looks a little startled, but he carefully puts away his pencil and scroll before getting up. He takes her hand and Chiasa leads him outside, their two ninken right at their heels.

_ Seriously, _ Toshiro thinks, _ I love those dogs, but when are they going to act like the summons that they are? _ The amount of dog hair he has to clean up is ridiculous. Kakashi’s dogs never stick around unless specifically summoned — as should the kids’ dogs.  _ I’m putting my foot down once they all start adding to their packs. There’s already too many summoned dogs here and half the time everything reeks of wet dog. _

He exhales into the still air. 

He misses Kakashi already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE.  
> also, ages in case ya want 'em, it's mid/near end of MAY right now in the timeline, like a month after graduation.  
> asuma/kurenai: 28  
> gai: 27   
> kakashi: 26  
> toshiro/shishui/hoshika/tenzou/fuyumi: 23  
> itachi: 17 (almost 18 uwu)  
> team tsushika/team gai: 13/14  
> rookie 15 (lol): 12/13  
> haruki: 11  
> touma: 10  
> takehiko/asuhi: 9


	24. forget-me-not's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> toshiro misses his not-hubby

Hoshika’s check-up goes well. She’s not showing yet, and she already looks exasperated by Shisui’s constant hovering. 

“My only reprieve is when he’s busy with his gaggle of genin.” She confides with a droll, annoyed tone. Even then, there’s a smile on her lips. 

Toshiro runs a chakra coated hand over her abdomen. At this stage, the fetus is little more than the size of an olive and it doesn’t yet have its own chakra system. As it turns out, Shisui and Hoshika weren’t entirely  _ trying _ for a baby. Pregnancy for a kunoichi is more difficult than it is for civilian counterparts, mostly due to lifestyle and exercise routines. Kunoichi, because of the strain they put on their bodies to keep in shape, generally have irregular periods that make it harder to conceive. Because it can be difficult to keep track of, most kunoichi use menstruation blockers — a beautiful combination of medical ninjutsu and fuuinjutsu developed by Senju Tsunade — to just be rid of it entirely. Ovulating on a mission can spell disaster for the kunoichi and her team. 

Hoshika, who has been sticking to a chunin desk job for the past few months, had chosen to stop the blockers. Her periods had still been irregular, but the possibility for pregnancy  _ had _ been there. And boy, did it take. 

He pulls his hand away. “Well, it’s too early to tell the gender — if you want to know at all — but baby Shi-Hoshi is doing fine. Our biggest concern right now is your body fat percentage.”

Shisui gasps from his position of hanging over Toshiro’s shoulder like a leech. “Wait, wait, when can we know the gender?”

“Anywhere between fourteen and eighteen weeks.” Toshiro replies.

“And there’s only one? You double checked? Are you sure it’s not twins?” 

From her position laying atop the examination table, Hoshika stares very blandly at her soon-to-be husband. “If I have to push out twins on the first go, I’m strangling you myself.”

Toshiro chuckles, “No, no, there’s only one. Maybe next time.”

Shisui looks entirely too hopeful at the prospect of  _ another time, _ and Hoshika just sighs, torn between fondness and exasperation.

“Let’s get through this first one before we start thinking about another.” She says. “Now what about this body fat thing? Sounds like a pain.”

“I suppose…” he murmurs, picking up his clipboard from where he’d initially dropped in on the counter. “It means you’ll have to lower the amount of exercise you do, and make a few changes to your diet.”

“An excuse to laze around?” Hoshika mutters, lips pulling into a smirk, “Perfect.”

Shisui’s chin dips to rest on Toshiro’s shoulder, his one eye scanning every note made. His body heat is an oddly familiar, comfortable weight. “What’s all this?”

“Supplements and vitamins she needs to take per trimester, along with the recommended calorie intake. You’re not at the belly bump stage yet, but your ability to do certain activities will be restricted. Or rather,  _ should _ be restricted.” He eyes her carefully, but isn’t very worried overall. Hoshika is a Nara through and through. She’s much more reliant on her mind than her body. “You should also keep note of all your pregnancy symptoms, like morning sickness, food aversion and whatever aches and pains may come. If you ever feel like anything doesn’t seem  _ right, _ or if one symptom is particularly bizarre, do  _ not _ hesitate to come to the hospital.”

Hoshika sighs, sitting up. Her shirt slides down to cover her toned, flat stomach. “Note taking. Got it.”

“Before we wrap this up, I should ask... did you two  _ want  _ to know the gender? If so, we can schedule the appointment sometime next month.” Toshiro pulls the paper he was writing on from the clipboard, handing it to Hoshika. Shisui slips away from his side to hover by her, their elbows brushing when she stands up fully. 

“Sure.” She replies, glancing at Shisui. “Makes it less bothersome to choose a name.”

“Hoshi-chan! Choosing a name is the best part!” Shisui exclaims.

“I thought it was the  _ actual  _ child part.”

The dark haired man pauses, “That too.”

* * *

利朗. Toshiro’s name is written with two kanji, meaning  _ advantage  _ and _ bright, _ respectively. He never really thought much as to how he got his name. He doesn’t think of his parents. Doesn’t think he has in years — or at least, not this world’s parents. His first family, the family with names in a language no one else speaks, still hold a spot in his heart that can’t be replaced. The pain has long since dimmed, so now he looks back on them fondly.  _ Even if their memory grows fainter by the day. _

Aikawa Toshiro’s father was a man named Towa, the kanji reading as  _ benevolence _ and  _ wing. _ It’s a pretty name for a pretty man. They’re shinobi, so most know not to ask about parents unless it’s for clan related conversation — or if it has to do with a legacy. So Toshiro has never thought about it. He’s never been asked about it.  _ No one brings it up. _ So he’d let the idea of having parents in this life fall into the background, like white noise. It seems cruel now, when he looks at how happy Shisui and Hoshika are with the idea of their child.

Cruel, to think that he hadn’t cared in the slightest about his own parents this life. Had they loved him? Anticipated his birth? Were they kind parents? He doesn’t know. The process of rebirth had been arduous enough that his mind hadn’t patched itself together until he was two years old and they were gone, dead in a war that had just begun. 

(A war he would lose himself in. A war he found himself in.)

The shinobi archives keep a pretty accurate record of the shinobi who have served Konoha. The village may have been a work in progress, but it certainly took their fallen shinobi seriously. Even if it had problems trying to stop those very shinobi from needing to  _ fall _ in the first place. The deceased were immortalized in carefully stored and protected records, their legacies inked into parchment. Aside from that and a name on a stone, that is all that remains of a shinobi once they leave this world. Leaving bodies behind is too risky. For more well-known and powerful shinobi, even leaving ashes behind is asking too much. 

In the quiet of a Thursday afternoon, with sunbeams peering warm and fuzzy through window slats, Toshiro pauses over an opened cabinet. The Shinobi Archives is empty of all but him, the only other sound comes from outside — children laughing and the muffled conversation of passersby just barely entering his range of hearing. In one hand is the limply held file of Aikawa Towa, in the other is a glossy, slightly aged photo of a man with sun-kissed freckles and sakura-pink eyes. His hair is rich gold, two shades lighter than Naruto’s and close enough to pass for a Yamanaka. Toshiro doesn’t have Towa’s hair, or the slope of his jaw or even the man’s height. But he has Towa’s eyes, freckles and smile. Maybe his father’s nose, if he looks closely enough.

He slips the photo back into the file and returns it to the cabinet. A seal flashes to life, locking away the secrets of the dead. A few rows over finds him at a new cabinet, riffling through the folders there before finding the one he’s looking for. 

His mother’s name is Yanagi Hanae.  _ Willow _ and  _ flower, forever and ever. _ It’s a name perfect for a child born in the spring, which she was, as it turns out. Between the three of them, Toshiro is the only one born in the summer, with his father having a winter birthday. Hanae is where Toshiro gets the shape of his eyes, the softness to his jaw and the height. He doesn’t exactly have  _ her _ hair either, as Hanae’s hair is wavy and beige — bordering champagne in color. In darker settings, their hair almost matches. The faint hints of gold must come from his father. 

Toshiro swirls a loose strand of his pin straight, ashy hair around a finger absently. Unlike Kakashi, who looks so much like his father it’s not even funny, or even Naruto, who has one parent’s coloring but the other’s face, Toshiro is a mix of both of them. He doesn’t look like one more than the other. It’s...nice. All things considered. Because he’s his own person, and while he’s thankful for them, he’s not sure what he’d feel if he wore one of their faces. 

He puts her folder back as well.

The sun slashes across the room and spills in sturdy, geometric shapes over the floor and shelves, blurry at the edges. He steps through a beam of light and his hair lights up like a beacon — flashes with hints of his father’s gold. With every step, he leaves those folders and the images within behind, until he’s out of the building entirely. 

Like he told Kakashi years ago, Toshiro never expected to have children. As a gay man in a world more focused on war than its people, he hadn’t even expected to live this long. The Hatake kids are adorable and strong and he loves them with every fiber of his being — but they’re like siblings. He’s half raising them, but they call him  _ nii-san _ or some other variation and when he gets to the heart of it all, what he wants is to one day be called  _ tou-chan.  _ Dad. Father. Papa. He doesn’t care, he just knows he  _ wants it. _ Before, it hadn’t seemed like a possibility. Now, however, with Project Test Tube Baby? 

It’s like all his dreams are at his fingertips. 

The catch? Kakashi. Toshiro knows the man struggles. Kakashi wasn’t entirely fit to be around kids — not when they first met. Too traumatized, too awkward and unwilling. He could barely care for himself, let alone children. Now, he’s better. He’s  _ good. _ Toshiro trusts him to care, teach and love every child in their house. But he has to take into account that all the Hatake kids are prodigies, and they came to them as slightly grown children, not babies. Not even toddlers. A baby requires care that children don’t — care that Toshiro isn’t sure Kakashi knows how to give. 

Because when it comes down to it, Toshiro wants kids. He also wants Kakashi. So, in conclusion, he wants kids with Kakashi and he wants Kakashi to  _ want kids too. _ Breaching that topic of conversation seems more daunting than confessing his feelings had been. If Kakashi says no, then it’ll be awkward — but what if he says yes? 

No matter the answer, Toshiro has to get it.

Eventually.

Maybe not...now. It would probably be best to wait until Project Test Tube Baby becomes viable. Yeah. That sounds much better.

* * *

Senju Tsunade is not entirely what Toshiro expected. She’s youthful in appearance, her hair tied back into two hanging pigtails — slightly childish, and it adds to her young look. She smells a bit like a distillery, but shows no signs of a hangover. Behind her is a woman with dark hair and eyes, clad in a plain kimono. There’s a pig in her arms. A pig wearing a vest. It’s ridiculously adorable and the small size only adds to that fact. 

Tsunade stands in the Council Room with her arms crossed, an expression on her face that clearly states she wishes she were anywhere but here. Jiraiya is beside her, a thump on his head and a lecherous flush to his cheeks. 

“I’m glad you could make it.” Itachi says, voice carefully void of emotion.

Tsunade scoffs, “Sure. Let’s get this over with, shall we? The sooner I can leave, the better.”

It’s not as if Toshiro doesn’t understand her reasoning. In a world ravaged by war, many lose their way after suffering casualty after casualty. The difference between shinobi like Tsunade, and shinobi like Itachi, is that one is willing to shoulder that pain to pave a better future. The other settles on running away. Tsunade is powerful and brilliant, her strength legendary and her medical contributions invaluable. Therefore, Toshiro is not looking to show her disrespect — because she does have his respect, or some measure of it. He’s just not willing to let her take over the hospital again. Even if she is smarter than him.

The Hokage’s hat dips as Itachi nods, “I am not Sandaime-sama. Konoha is well on its way to become an unrecognizable village. This is the path we have chosen for the future: A Konoha that truly encompasses the desires of our forefathers, rather than settling on empty promises.” His dark eyes meet Tsunade’s, “We’ve made great progress. I will not allow our stride to break because of a mess that should have been handled before my birth. You’ve been called here so I may notify you of the current agenda. Orochimaru is an enemy of Konoha whom we have allowed far too many freedoms.”

“I’ve been tracking him for ages, Godaime-sama.” Jiraiya murmurs, looking particularly downcast and uncomfortable at the topic. “He’s notorious for...slipping away.”

“Whatever Orochimaru does is his business,” Tsunade grumbles, “and Konoha’s. I’ve long since given up on that man.”

“That’s not good enough.”

The air sharpens at Itachi’s words, the faintest string of accusation hidden in his low voice. Toshiro feels sweat beading at his temple. It’s not quite  _ killing intent, _ but there’s a pressure that wasn’t there before. 

Tsunade’s amber eyes narrow dangerously, “Just what do you expect from me, Uchiha?”

“You don’t have to come back to Konoha. I will not force you back into our ranks. But you were not formally relieved of your duties,” Itachi informs, “You were allowed to roam without reprimand thanks to,  _ and only thanks to, _ your relationship with Sandaime-sama. I am not nearly as lax or willing to pardon such actions when they affect the village as a whole. But I am also aware that force does not breed loyal shinobi. As such, I’ve developed a compromise.”

The sound of Tsunade’s teeth grinding is almost audible. Somehow, she refrains from smashing the table in front of her, even though Toshiro almost expects her to, with all the talk of her temper he’s heard. Instead, her hands just  _ creak  _ into fists. No one dares interrupt. It’s not their place. 

“A compromise?” She snorts, “Very well, let’s hear it then.”

“If you see Orochimaru in your travels, you will inform us. If you stumble upon a base of his, you will inform us. If you think you can kill him,  _ you will do so.” _ The Uchiha teen does not flinch from whatever ire he sees in Tsunade’s eyes, nor does he balk at the discomfort visible in Jiraiya’s face. “This goes for both of you. I don’t know your feelings on or for Orochimaru, and I can’t afford to take them into consideration. Orochimaru is a danger to others, and a danger to the future of Konoha. He will be stopped, be it by your hands or one of ours.”

Jiraiya exhales, looking his age. His shoulders slump and something complicated passes over his expression. “I understand.”

Itachi’s eyes slide to Tsunade. “Tsunade-sama?”

She purses her lips, visibly frustrated but also looking incredibly weary — like maybe she knows this was a long time coming. Toshiro wonders if she can do it, if she can really kill the man she considered a teammate. That depends, of course, on the state of their relationship to begin with. It might be easy. He bets she’s thought about it a lot over the years, because what else does one do when they run from their problems, aside from stew in their regrets?

“I understand.” She finally grits, turning away from Itachi’s piercing gaze. She doesn’t look upon the others in the room, instead choosing to peer unseeingly into the distance. He tries to imagine himself in her place — and can’t. She’s so far away from his path, from the future he chose to strive for. 

_ What made you go? _ He thinks to himself,  _ What is the difference between you and I? _

Two healers. Two blonds. Two headstrong, intelligent,  _ driven _ individuals. 

It makes him worry, to think that there might be a breaking point for him. That one day he could possibly end up like her. What would it take? What would be the last straw? Even if he lost everyone, why would he leave Konoha? The phantom ache? The inability to look at the places they once walked? 

Maybe.

It’s hard to say. He doesn’t want to end up like her. That’s why he’s here, sitting in this council seat. The clanless chunin who looked around and said  _ no, this isn’t all we can have. _ He dug his way into the root of Konoha because he  _ could, _ and that meant he  _ should. _

The future will be bright.

It has to be.

* * *

She doesn’t leave right away. It would be a strain to leave the very same day, when the sun is already close to setting and the nearest town outside of Konoha was half a day’s travel. Tsunade no longer has a place to stay, having sold her home and the last of the Senju property without much thought or care on the matter. As she is a guest of Konoha, and one of the legendary sannin, Toshiro is sure Itachi set up something for her. He doesn’t stress about it. What she does isn’t his business. 

She’s going to leave the next day. Probably.

_ Jiraiya, _ however, is someone who regretfully sinks into Toshiro’s thoughts and brings a slight frown to his lips. They’ve barely spoken, but his opinion on the man remains the same. Rather than take it all, no matter how heavy, Jiraiya is a man who picks and chooses his responsibilities. Maybe it was Toshiro’s bias — and hypocrisy, as he knows the pressures of duty versus life — but one of those dropped responsibilities was  _ Naruto. _ Arguably, the boy was more important than the regular child on account of both his status as jinchuuriki  _ and _ as the son of the Yondaime,  _ and as one of the last remaining Uzumaki. _ The poor kid deserved more than what Jiraiya gave him, which was  _ nothing. _ It irked Toshiro before, and it irks him now. Naruto is a good kid, a genuine kid. The kind of kid that should be allowed life and love and access to his heritage. 

_ Ah, I miss him. _ Thinking about the little spitfire reminds Toshiro that Team 7 is still currently on a mission. To the Land of Waves, of all places. He misses all of them. Sakura, Shikamaru, Naruto… Kakashi. The two week mark is rapidly approaching. It’s not unusual for the time span to be a little above or below that estimate, as moving at a civilian rate of speed is cause for a lot of variables. He really hopes it’s on the shorter end.

Toshiro absently braids his hair, the long strands reaching almost down to his waist by now. The sun is steadily lowering into the horizon and the shadows are long and dark. Street lights turn on, lanterns glowing with fuzzy, orange hues and the chirp of cicadas fills the air. The meeting had taken the better part of three hours after Tsunade stormed out, Jiraiya and that dark-haired woman with the pig hot on her heels. 

Shibi updated them on the orphanage situation, and brought forth an anti-kidnapping measure. Aburame bugs could communicate with their hosts through chakra, therefore, they made the best security cameras. Innocuous, able to hide in small spaces or plain sight — the bugs could notify a host if a child was under threat of kidnapping. There was the issue of privacy — and it relied on the trust that the Aburame in charge of the guard rotation would use the bugs for the appropriate surveillance and  _ only _ for that. 

It wasn’t strictly put into words, but it hung in the air regardless:  _ We don’t want to create an opportunity for pedophiles. _ Again, not put into words, because then it would sound like they were accusing the Aburame of  _ having  _ pedophiles in their midst. All the same, it was a good idea. Having a rotating clock of Aburame who would attach a bug to each child in their district, then only respond if one bug implied distress through chakra. Essentially, a tagging system for orphans, marginally the most at-risk group of people in Konoha. 

Exactly what they needed, if history said anything. Unfortunately, too many creepy old men were interested in taking advantage of poor supervision to whisk away children. Whether it be for Orochimaru’s experiments or Danzo’s ROOT, Konoha had proven unsafe for their very own children. 

It was time to change that.

_ About time. _

An arm slings itself over his shoulder, and the scent of woodpine and ginger fills his nose. Shikaku’s grin is slick, the dark of his eyes glimmering amber in the lamplight. “Serious thoughts?”

“Dunno.” He answers honestly, “Probably.”

Shikaku raises his eyebrows, the expression pulling on his facial scars. “Well, that’s not very convincing.”

“Shikaku, Toshiro.” Inoichi exits the Hokage’s building, his high ponytail swinging behind him. “Busy night?”

Toshiro shares a glance with Shikaku, “No,” he replies and the older man echoes the sentiment with a shake of his head.

“Good,” Inoichi says, the grim set to his mouth not matching the glimmer of humor in his pupil-less gaze. “The wife is making dinner for a crowd. Interested?”

Shikaku hums, leaning his weight onto Toshiro a little more solidly, “Sure.”

“I suppose Gin and Sasuke will already be there,” Toshiro huffs, nothing but fondness in his heart, “I’m sure the other kids won’t have a problem with it. It’s a bit close to the picnic though, isn’t it?”

Inoichi shrugs, “I don’t claim to know what goes on in her head, and I’m a  _ Yamanaka.” _

Shikaku barks out something like a laugh, and the three of them traverse down the summer-washed street.

* * *

Toshiro pulls his hands from the guts of an ANBU with a mask that looks like some aquatic creature. His palms are slick with hot blood. The scent of iron is heavy in the air. Sweat gathers in the square of his back and slips, bead by bead, down his spine. Swallowing against the dryness in his throat, Toshiro watches as the man is wheeled out to an operating room, now stabilized enough to survive the next few minutes. 

“Sensei,” calls an orderly, “We need you at entrance two.”

He washes up quickly, sterilizing his hands with practiced efficiency. At the back of his head lingers the faintest worry — yesterday was two weeks. The second entrance for shinobi is two halls down, and he gets there within the next thirty seconds. Brown hair, bleary green eyes. The jounin, judging by the vest, isn’t one Toshiro knows intimately. He brushes her bangs away from her eyes and watches her pupils shift. 

Clicking his tongue, he calls over another med-nin with a wave of his hand. “She has a concussion. If she looks like she’s going to vomit,  _ catch it.” _

The poor boy is probably sixteen and getting in his internship hours, but he nods with only the slightest look of nerves on his paling face. Toshiro flashes a grim smile and gets back to work. There’s a few bloody lacerations to heal, one deep enough to leave a scar.

“Not bad.” He mutters, sealing the worst of it with the mystical palm technique. A scar is nothing to a shinobi. A badge, if you wish to look at it in a positive light. A regret, if you’re pessimistic. (Or truthful.) “Can I get someone running a poison screen?” 

There’s three more shinobi he has to tend to before he gets a break. In his office, surrounded by his many plants and the scent of heavy mint and soil, he changes from the sweaty scrubs into a new pair. Detangling his hair is another matter. His scalp feels sore from how tightly he’d tied his bun this morning, and now he just feels greasy and gross. The heat has steadily been climbing and the constant opening of doors and windows doesn’t help in keeping the temperature low. At least his office is marginally cooler than the halls, and he feels himself relaxing as he re-ties his long, pale hair into a loose, high ponytail. 

Just as he settles with a heavy sigh at his desk, there’s a knock on his door. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Toshiro calls for whoever it is to enter.

“Sorry, I hope I’m not disturbing you…” A dark haired woman makes her way in, the same one who’d accompanied Tsunade the other day.

“You’re still here?” He finds himself saying, then flushes at his own audacity. “Sorry, that was rude.”

She laughs, only a little awkward, “No, it’s...understandable. Tsunade-sama is...reacquainting herself with certain parts of Konoha.”

Toshiro thinks that’s a very subtle way of saying  _ bar-hopping. _ He offers the woman a slight smile. “I see. What can I do for you, then?”

“I’ve been learning medical ninjutsu under Tsunade-sama for some time now. While I’m here, I thought I might offer my services.” The woman’s face softens into contemplation, “You’re...far better staffed than I anticipated.”

“Things have changed.” He replies, then stands from his desk. “I’m sorry, I never caught your name before...?”

“Oh!” She flushes, waving her hands, “Where are my manners! I’m Shizune.”

He makes his way across the room, gesturing to the hall. She gets the message and steps back, so they both stand outside his office. Closing the door tightly, he swipes his thumb by the wall and a quick jolt of chakra locks the room down.

At Shizune’s wide eyes, he merely offers another, slightly more mischievous smile. “I’m Aikawa Toshiro. I don’t know how long you’ve been away from Konoha, if you’re from here—”

“I am.”

He nods, “But the hospital has changed quite a bit. Tsutomu-sensei is in charge of shinobi trauma response, so I’ll bring you to her.”

They make their way down the hall, dodging out of the way when both staff and visitors pass. 

“It certainly seems…bigger.” Shizune comments after a moment. He glances back to see her eyes wandering over the halls. “It really is different. The use of seals, the amount of staff...it’s incredible.”

Pride blooms in his chest. It took hell to get here, and it never gets old to hear that quiet awe in someone’s voice. He still hears it in his own. “The hospital has been able to make it this far because of the collaboration of Konoha’s clans, most notably the Yamanaka, Nara, Akimichi and Uchiha. We’ve opened up medical ninjutsu classes to urge shinobi and kunoichi to get involved. What you see is the result of Konoha’s favorite motto,” he smirks, throwing her a wink, “ _ Teamwork.” _

Shizune flushes a deep rouge, “I-It’s impressive. I can’t believe the Council actually decided to do something about this place.”

He stops at the entrance to the Trauma Hall, spotting Tsutomu-sensei conversing with another staff member. At Shizune’s words, he blinks incredulous sakura-pink eyes and lets out a short laugh. “The Council? If only! It would have been so much easier if they’d given a crap when this all started.”

Shizune frowns, “Then how—”

“Aikawa-sensei.” Tsutomu-sensei greets, wandering over after catching Toshiro’s eye. “What can I do for you?”

He gestures to Shizune, “This is Shizune, she’s a student of Tsunade-sama. She’s offered her services for the duration of her stay.”

Shizune bows, “I’ll be in your care.”

Tsutomu-sensei eyes the young woman with a careful stare, before flicking her gaze over to Toshiro. At his easy expression, she nods. “Alright, glad to have you. We’ve got a few patients and we’re a bit short today. Follow me — and if you have any questions, feel free to ask. This hospital is not like any other, I promise.”

“I’ll take my leave.” Toshiro says politely, giving both women a tired smile. 

Shizune responds awkwardly, her hand coming up in a wave.

“Oh, deary,” He hears Tsutomu-sensei murmur as he walks away, “That man is  _ taken _ with a capital  _ T.” _

Luckily, neither of them can see the amused smile that blooms across his mouth.

* * *

It is four days past the time that was estimated for Team 7’s return. That’s not incredibly worrying, as they were escorting a civilian, one who walks far slower than they do — and an older man at that. That doesn’t soothe the worry. Nothing will, no matter how many missions any of his loved ones take, or however strong they get. He will always worry until their return. 

Asuhi has taken to sleeping in Sai’s bed, because Naruto has been gone too long and her other siblings are barely in the house. Takehiko crowds the other side, so Sai generally wakes up boxed in by his two younger siblings. 

He’s yet to tell them to stop. Toshiro doesn’t think it’s even crossed the boy’s mind. The house is quieter for more than one reason — another is that the dogs have unsummoned themselves. Whatever bond they’d needed to be established is set, to Toshiro’s knowledge. Now, there’s things that only other dog summons can teach a dog summons. (According to Kakashi.) 

It feels a bit lonely without the barking, howling and tapping of dog nails on hardwood. There’s also significantly less dog hair all over the couch. The kids were mopey, but understood the need for their dogs to have their own specialized training. A summons was also not a pet, it was a partner, and it’s better that they learned that now. Not that most didn’t already think that — Gin and Tomoe were constantly working on tag-team moves, for one. 

Just yesterday, Chiasa spoke about reverse-summoning herself to the Dog Realm. She thinks she’s prepared to pick out the next member of her pack. Toshiro isn’t well-versed in that kind of thing, not having his own summons, so he’d told her to wait until Kakashi’s return.

(If he returns.)

No pessimistic thoughts. 

“Okushika, can you run it through the third sequence again.” 

The labs are carefully monitored, air conditioned and sealed. There is no in or out unless you’re on an approved list. He spends half his shifts here, working with his other three chosen heads on Project Test Tube Baby. 

“Yeah.” She grunts, focused on the sealing array in front her. Her tongue sticks out the corner of her mouth as she concentrates. Toshiro can see her relation to Hoshika and Shikaku in the untamed black of her hair, the amber-hued irises and the slope of her nose. 

Uchiha Tetsuya sits across from her, twenty years or so younger — not yet eighteen and already churning out results a seasoned adult spends years working for. He has the signature Uchiha pale skin, pretty features and dark eyes. His hair looks brown rather than black, however, and his nose is a bit wider than Itachi’s; it’s more on par with Shisui’s. He’s boyish and looks younger than he is, though he acts far older. 

It’s Kanna’s day off, and the vibrant greenette is far, far away from the hospital and hopefully spending her day catching up on some well deserved rest. 

“Sensei, I think there’s an issue with this phase.” Tetsuya notes, gesturing to the microscope. Toshiro leans slightly into the boy’s space and peers through the lens.

He clicks his tongue at what he sees. The cells are decaying too fast, splicing back apart into separate strands. “Try the second method. We need to find the right algorithm that provides a successful bonding agent.”

Tetsuya frowns at having to turn back to Orochimaru’s notes, but doesn’t comment. 

Toshiro brushes a strand of loose, ashy hair behind his ears and sighs quietly. He hopes Kakashi and the kids come home soon. He’s been thinking about it for a while now, and maybe he  _ should _ ask before it’s done. Just to get it out of the way. How hard can it be?

_ Kakashi, I want to have kids with you. _ He mentally shakes his head.  _ As if that’ll go over well! We haven’t even been dating a full year. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhh so [i made a tumblr?](https://spideyfoof.tumblr.com/) yeah. please follow for art things/updates/questions/writing stuff? tumblr is just a much easier format to reply to questions, post art / drabbles, etc.


	25. blue salvia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> blue salvia: thinking of you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nsfw / @ "lightning dances across his tongue" TW: overstimulation kink

Toshiro wakes to an empty bed and the sound of birds chirping. It’s still dark outside, the faintest blues of morning light breaching the horizon. He lays in the messy sheets for a few minutes, pulling strands of hair from his mouth and feeling inexplicably lonely when he notes a distinct lack of body heat beside him. 

Team 7 is very, very late. 

He continues about his morning as usual, hair tied up in a sloppy bun as he putters around the kitchen. Cooking comes easier now, a few years of tenuous practice under his belt. The kids put on smiles to match his, but he can tell they’re just as worried. When the last of them leave, he slumps against the kitchen counter, a mug of green tea in his hand. It’s an old, slightly chipped thing—the mug, that is—Toshiro is pretty sure it’s been here the whole time, before he and the kids moved in. There’s a cartoon dog that looks remarkably like Pakkun printed across it. 

Kakashi never uses it. But he never says a word about Toshiro doing so.

Sighing deeply, he tosses the rest of his tea down the sink and goes to get dressed. The Chunin Exams are in about a month, and the village is busy with preparations. It’s been awhile since Konoha last hosted, and they have a new Hokage to show off—as well as various new upgrades. Sections of Konoha would be forbidden to foreign nin, but what they _could_ showcase _would_ be showcased. Politics.

Toshiro leaves the house in his chunin uniform, hair spilling down his shoulders and over the padded neck guard. He has the day off today, and the last thing he wants to do is spend it moping around the house. The emptiness doesn’t help his anxieties in the slightest.

He takes his time wandering closer to the center of the village, the patches of forest and natural landscape fading to be replaced by Konoha’s distinct architecture. There’s a list of people he can visit if he so desires, people who will take his mind off of all the horror scenarios he keeps thinking of.

“HEY! HATAKE!” A whirlwind of brown nearly slams into his side. Inuzuka Kazane, her hair spiked and wild, grins with her Clan’s trademark ferocity. At her heels is a massive dog, and in her arms is a baby, little Inuzuka Reiko, whom Toshiro delivered himself almost a year ago.

“Kazane-san—” He attempts to greet, but is interrupted by Reiko being shoved into his arms. He immediately shifts to carry her properly, the little baby waving her pudgy fists and babbling loudly. Her hair is the same dark brown as Kazane’s, and the tiny red triangles on her cheeks clearly mark her as an Inuzuka. 

“Watch the kid for a moment!” Kazane says, then bounds away just as quickly as she’d approached, her canine partner right beside her.

Toshiro can only gape at the cloud of dust she leaves behind. Reiko catches a loose strand of his hair and tugs it into her mouth. 

“Well,” he murmurs, looking down at the baby, “Guess that just happened.”

There’s not much else he can do but keep going. Kazane can easily track him, so he doesn’t worry about her not being able to locate him later. Hefting Reiko against his shoulder, he lets her goop up his vest with drool and continues on. A few people look a second too long, civilians especially. The sight of a shinobi decked in their full gear while carrying an infant is, in fact, not a usual sight. He offers awkward smiles in return whenever someone meets his eye, a remnant instinct from his past life.

In a stroke of luck, Inoka is around. Lately, she’s been extremely busy with ANBU. He worries about her more often than not, because he knows just what ANBU does to a person. 

It cuts the light out of you. 

“Where’d you get that baby?” She hovers over him, tall enough that her chin can rest easily on his head. “Does Hatake know about this?”

Reiko gurgles and holds Inoka’s offered finger hostage. They stand just outside the Yamanaka Compound, backs the street.

“I’m just watching her,” he replies, “Kazane-san had...business?”

“Why is that phrased like a question.”

“Well, I didn’t exactly have a chance to ask before I had a baby in my arms.”

Pupil-less eyes peer down at him, “You’re serious? An Inuzuka gave you their baby to watch?”

Toshiro blinks, nearly missing getting his eye poked out by one of Reiko’s flailing fists. “Yeah? I helped deliver her. I suppose I was just a convenient option? She already knows me, so...”

Inoka shakes her head, “No, no, my man, my guy, my adorable little angel...an Inuzuka does not just _give you their child_ like that, not when the kid is _this_ young. You think Kakashi has doggy energy? The Inuzuka practically live with wolves. In a forest. ”

“Where exactly are you going with this?” He mutters, resignation and dread colliding in his tone. Sage, these clans had too many subtle customs—it’s no wonder most of them didn’t get along. (Or rather, _used_ to not get along.) Some behavior that might be seen as the norm to some could very well be seen as a slight to others. 

“Oh, it’s nothing bad.” Inoka pauses, considering. “Probably.”

“Probably?”

“Dogs really like you, huh. You’re like catnip, but for dogs. Dog-magnet instead of a chick magnet.” She says, pinching one of Reiko’s soft, marked cheeks. “You’re like the bone they all fight over, except you’re not boney at all. Kinda peachy, actually.”

“I get it.” He interrupts dryly.

She laughs, “Yeah, well. Inuzuka are big about trust and bonds and shit. You ally yourself with one, you ally yourself with all of them. They have that in common with the Uchiha—and the Nara. You ever piss off a Nara? Fair warning, don’t.”

He can’t imagine being on the receiving end of all that intelligence. A motivated Nara? They’d rule over the Elemental Nations!

“Kiba comes by sometimes.” Not lately, now that he thinks about it, despite being on Sai’s team. “Or he used to.”

Inoka shrugs, “Yeah, well it doesn’t have to be someone _important_ for the Inuzuka. Most clans out there will only feel like they owe you if you aid someone of high standing. You could give a band-aid to someone with a smidgen of Inuzuka blood and the entire clan would come to your defense if you needed it. So I doubt it was the kid that got their attention. Tsume doesn’t care for that _clan relations_ bull.”

Toshiro purses his lips. “So, Kazane-san?”

Inoka shrugs. “This kid’s mom?”

He nods.

“Then yeah,” she says. “I guess. If Kazane-san considers you a friend, then you have an _in,_ so to speak. Not that you’ll do anything nefarious with it.”

Toshiro makes a face. “ _Nefarious?_ Really?”

Inoka just grins at him sharply, “Well, just expect to get more Inuzuka kids dumped on you in the street.”

He doesn’t quite groan at the thought, because to do so would be an exaggeration. He loves kids—and he’s never really held a baby for this long before. Reiko is surprisingly calm. Or, calm in the sense that she’s not howling at the top of her lungs. Instead, she’s constantly moving and wiggling, babbling and gurgling. So much energy for one so young—it must be an Inuzuka trait.

They make their way down the street, eyes squinting against the brightness of mid-morning. Even with no set destination in mind, they still end up at their usual tea shop. Reiko falls asleep along the way, lulled by the soft sway of Toshiro’s walk. He manages not to jostle her as he slides into the booth. It’s amazing to him that she can even sleep against his vest—it’s certainly not soft, with its thick, kunai-resistant fabric and mesh filling. 

“I have the next few days off, but there’s already a mission slated for me when I get back.” Inoka sighs, “I don’t know if it’s because of Godaime-sama, but we’ve received a huge influx of missions across the board. Word on the street is that the Daimyo is exceptionally pleased to have someone of such high standing in the position of Hokage. Even more so because the Uchiha are half the reason Konoha exists.”

Toshiro hums, voice low to keep Reiko from waking. One palm is spread across her back, holding her to him. “That’s good, isn’t it? It means increased revenue.”

“It _means_ the other Hidden Villages aren’t receiving as many. Politics are an intricate game, my cute little friend.” She winks. “Besides, as good as it is that the Daimyo approves of Godaime-sama, it still pisses me off.”

Toshiro furrows his brow, but doesn’t reply. Their server comes by to drop off their drinks. Mint for him, Jasmine for her. The familiar scents fill his nostrils, loosening muscles he hadn’t realized were tensed. He knows Inoka approves of Itachi. He knows she has no issue with the Uchiha—loves them, even, because the clans get on like a house on fire. And there’s that joint hair product business they’ve started. 

It comes to him a moment later.

“You’re suggesting that the Daimyo approves of status over capability.” 

Inoka raises a pale brow, “You think I’m wrong?”

“Did he not approve of Yondaime-sama?”

She takes a swig of her tea, “Dunno. I wasn’t really old enough to remember much of him. But I’m pretty sure the fact that the man pretty much won the war for us put him in some good books. _And_ he married an Uzumaki, someone directly related to Uzumaki Mito-sama. So, again, it comes down to status.” Inoka sighs, “I think it’s obvious that someone who’s not related to a Clan in some way will never reach the title of Hokage. At least, not without heavy disapproval. Which we can’t afford if we want to keep taking money out of the Daimyo’s pocket.”

“He’s classist, basically.” That’s not a total surprise, considering the way this world is run. Clans were the golden children, the ones the Daimyo pandered to—the ones any Daimyo _really_ wanted to keep within the borders of their nation. Because when it came down to it, a Clan could very well pack up and leave if they felt their needs and desires weren’t being properly met. 

Or they could incite a civil war. Which is the last thing a nation needs if it wants to appear strong and prevent other nations from surging across their borders, like sharks waiting for the first sign of blood. 

“You said it.” Inoka sighs. “And don’t even get me started on _Kusa._ They’re like rabid animals, just _waiting_ for a chance to instigate another war. They’re bitter and willing to do anything to take Konoha down a peg. Border patrol out there is fuckin’ atrocious!”

“Can you blame them?” He asks, “The last war ravaged half their country. They’re _still_ reforming and repairing.”

“Yeah, well...I suppose.” Inoka sighs, “Your man certainly left his mark, too. I think they still have a hard-on for locking him up because of the bridge.”

Toshiro grimaces. “What about Nami?” He finds himself saying. 

“Nami?” Inoka hums, “That’s on the complete opposite side of the nation! It’d be pretty shitty if we were getting opposition from two borders....why do you—oh.” She gives him a look that verges on the edge of _pity_. “You know they’ll be fine, right? Kakashi wasn’t a Hokage candidate just for his good looks, you know?”

Toshiro sips at his tea, the familiar taste of mint flooding his tongue, sharp and clear. “He could be the most powerful man in the world and I’d still worry.”

Reiko snuffles by his ear, her leg twitching in her sleep. Heat seeps through the tea cup and scalds his fingertips. 

“I know,” Inoka replies softly, golden lashes lowering. She drums her long, slender fingers on the table, mindful of the noise. “I mean, I think I get how you feel. Maybe?”

He stares at her. “You…” Could she be saying what he thinks she is? “Oh my Sage, are you _seeing_ someone?”

Inoka laughs sheepishly, tossing a lock of pale blonde hair over her shoulder. Her cheeks turn pale pink, and a giddiness he’s never seen flashes in her azure gaze. “No? I don’t know. I mean, there’s a guy. But that’s it. I don’t know if he even...you get me?”

You’d have to be blind not to see how beautiful Inoka is. Tall, leggy and blonde, with a can-do attitude and a wild streak—she draws eyes easily. Someone like her shouldn’t have problems with men, except he knows she’s never been in a relationship in her entire life. _Not one._ There’s nothing wrong with being single, even if it’s forever. But he knows she _wants_ to love and be loved, and yet men run the second they stand next to her and realize they have to look _up._ In a world where women are preferred small and dainty, it’s hard to be 6’—especially when the average height for men in Konoha is about 5’8”.

“Do I know him?” He asks, racking his brain for anyone that’s come up in conversation before. As it happens, romance is actually the last thing they ever end up talking about. 

“Yeah. It’s, uh, Yamashiro.”

“AO—” he catches himself at the last second, lowering his voice dramatically, “ _Aoba?”_

“Yes!” Inoka hisses in return, checking over her shoulder to see if anyone is looking. “Don’t sound so surprised!”

Aoba is older—four years older than Kakashi, even. It’s not a significant age gap for shinobi, or even for this world. (Or his last one, now that he thinks about it. Inoka is 22, and Aoba is 30. They can do whatever the hell they want.) While Kakashi is probably more familiar with Aoba, Toshiro _has_ spoken with the dark-haired tokubetsu jounin on more than one occasion. _Fun_ conversations, too. While the man isn’t as laid-back as, say, _Genma,_ he’s still easy-going and able to remain outwardly calm when needed. 

He’s also a good four inches shorter than Inoka.

“I’m not. Well, actually I am. Only because you’ve never mentioned him before!” He hurriedly assures, “I didn’t even know you two _met!”_

Inoka twirls a strand of her long hair around a finger, “We’ve only spoken a few times...it’s actually the whole thing with you and Kakashi that had us in the same circle. So far I’ve only been able to talk to him when we’re out at bars with the whole group.” She sighs, “I’ve been trying to see if I have his interest, but it’s so _hard!_ He wears those dumb glasses all the time and it’s impossible to know if he’s actually paying attention!”

“Wow.” Toshiro absently pats Reiko’s back, the baby still conked out. “Good luck, I guess? I know he’s not seeing anyone, so you’ve definitely got a chance?”

“Will you stop phrasing your words like questions, you’re really putting a damper on my confidence!” 

“Ah,” he grins sheepishly, “Sorry. I really do think you have a shot, though. I’m just...processing.” And scheming. But only a little bit. 

Inoka points a finger at his face. “No scheming.”

 _Foiled before I can even begin._ He quickly makes a face of complete innocence. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“Yeah, sure. I mean it though! I wanna do this on my own.”

He purses his lips and tries not to snicker. “Go get your man, then.”

Inoka sighs heavily, head drooping. “Trust me, I’m trying.” Then she shoots up, a gleam in her pupil-less eyes, “Speaking of men! Have you heard from Fuyumi lately?”

“No,” he replies. He’s actually been wondering about her. She’s been absent from the past few get-togethers, and at this point it’s been almost a month since he last saw her. That’s not completely unusual in the shinobi world—they were busy, after all. Some missions lasted years! But Fuyumi… “Though I heard from Shisui that she’s dodging her family.”

“Yeah,” Inoka sits back against the booth, stretching her legs below the table. “She was workin’ on some legal thing, using it as an excuse to ignore her family’s bitching and moaning.” They want her to hurry up and get married—and pop out some sharingan-wielding babies.”

He carefully readjusts Reiko, brushing a hand over her fuzzy brown hair. Her little nose scrunches at the movement, but she doesn’t wake. “Shisui told me as much. You’d think they’d lighten up on her now that he’s expecting his own.” The last part is muttered quietly.

Inoka’s eyes flicker to the side, observing the few customers in the shop. “Yeah, well, they’re not exactly satisfied with that, seeing as the kid is half Nara. Not that they aren’t happy he’s created a formal alliance! But he’s a man. She’s a woman. Ergo, they think her uterus belongs to them.”

Toshiro frowns. With how well everything has been going lately, sometimes he forgets that older generations still hold certain views about their own clan members. The Uchiha especially were a regal sort of clan that held traditional values very close to their chest. The Hyuuga were perhaps even worse. At least the Uchiha never branded their own clansmen. Which reminds him—he should ask Chiasa about her plans regarding Atsuzumi, because he’s pretty sure she has her sights on tearing the Hyuuga Clan a new asshole.

“The Uchiha are pretty cautious about breaking up relationships. Is she interested in anyone?”

Inoka shakes her head, “Not that I know of, or at least she wasn’t the last time we talked. I don’t think that’s changed, though.”

They’re quiet for a moment.

“Should we get her a boyfriend?”

“Totally.”

* * *

When lunchtime comes around, Reiko is collected by Kazane, who appears as if she’s just come back from a fight. She looks inordinately pleased with herself. If it was a fight, she probably won.

“Are you...okay?” He can’t help but ask.

She gives him a grin that’s all teeth, blood sliding down her chin. “Oh yeah, I’m great! Just scored a date.”

“Congratulations?”

“Thanks again, Hatake!” Kazane yells, already halfway down the street with Reiko laughing in her arms. 

He kind of misses the soft warmth and weight of the little baby—her little coos and waving fists. It makes him heartsick for something he’s never had, but desires more than anything. “It’s still Aikawa—” He says halfheartedly, even though she’s already long gone. “Eh, whatever.”

When he wanders back home, Sai is just about to leave. There’s a backpack slung over his shoulder, and his dark clothes are pristine—he’s wearing a new outfit. Dark eyes meet his own vibrant pair, and Sai wanders over without prompting. They meet at the steps to the engawa.

“What’s up?”

“Mission,” the boy says quietly. “C Rank. It’s estimated to take a week.”

A pang of anxiety hits his chest. Kakashi and Team 7 still haven’t returned from their own C Rank, and now another team is going off on one? “Where are you headed?”

“Just escorting a caravan a few towns over. We won’t be leaving _Hi no Kuni.”_

Toshiro sighs, relieved. “Good luck.”

Sai nods. Then, after a moment, he steps into Toshiro’s space and offers an awkward hug. Toshiro hugs back, arms hooked over the pack Sai is carrying. He ruffles the boy’s dark hair and pastes a grin on his face.

“I’ll see you in a week.” He says, “Make sure you remember to eat and drink, and try to get along with your Team.”

“I shall endeavor to do my best.” Sai replies dryly, the smile on his lips oddly blank. “But according to others, bonds are a two way street. And Kiba is a boulder in the way.”

 _What an analogy._ “Well, maybe you should compare him less to an obstacle, and more to something challenging.” Toshiro suggests. “You keep talking about him like he’s something you have to get over—when really you should consider him someone you have to learn from.”

“I don’t need to learn anything from Kiba.”

Toshiro gently presses a finger to Sai’s pale nose. “You need to learn how to work with people like him, because the world is full of all different kinds of people, and as a shinobi you’ll need to be able to fit yourself in _anywhere._ Maybe you aren’t friends. Maybe you don’t like him. But you need to learn how to trust him, because he’s someone who will stand between you and death.”

Sai blinks his dark eyes, visibly pondering Toshiro’s words. “Aneki said something very similar. I suppose I’m just having difficulty implementing her advice.”

“If you’re having trouble, try talking to Asuma. He’ll listen.”

The young Hatake nods very seriously. “Thank you. I’ll see you in a week.”

Toshiro pats the boy on the shoulder and watches him leave, sighing heavily. The house already feels a little bit emptier. Is this empty nest syndrome? Already? He enters the house and slips off his sandals, then his chunin vest. He drapes it over one arm as he wanders further inside, unsure of what to do now. Without Kakashi here, having a day off feels more like a punishment than a vacation. 

He makes it to his room and tosses his vest off to the side. It crumples to the floor with a thump. His bed is unmade, and he falls onto the sheets face first, hair spread about his head. Maybe he’ll take a nap, he _did_ get up early this morning... Then he can do some training. Maybe start on a big dinner for the kids when they get home. He _definitely_ has to take a shower.

(He hasn’t forgotten the dried baby drool in his hair.)

Toshiro rolls over, ash blond hair tangling around his hands. He gazes at the visible sky revealed through the slightly cracked window and watches a cloud float lazily by. Shinobi are those who endure. They’re expected to do whatever they’re ordered, no matter how long it takes. Kakashi had once been on a mission that lasted a whole year—yet it feels like eons longer now, when all he wants is to hold the other man in his arms and never let go.

“Hurry home.” He whispers.

* * *

He gets his wish approximately three days later, when Team 7 wanders through the gates. They’re roughed up and dirty, but alive and mostly uninjured. They stop by the hospital for post-mission checkups when Toshiro is on duty, and he almost drops his clipboard when he sees them. 

“Sensei!” Sakura exclaims, “Sorry we’re late!”

“Well,” he replies, voice a little strained, “I suppose I should have expected it, with the way your sensei is.”

Naruto lets out a laugh, while Kakashi looks mildly insulted. “Hey, Hey, Toshi-nii, you _hafta_ hear what happened! It was CRAZY!”

Shikamaru looks up at the ceiling with a listless gaze. “Checkup first, Naruto. Then you can go wild.”

Toshiro raises a brow at Kakashi, “Do they even need you?”

“They grow up so fast.”

The kids are fine, just tired, dirty and a little bit achy. He’s sure he’ll get the full story eventually. All he knows so far is that their pleasant little C Rank ended up as an A Rank. And there’s apparently a bridge named after them. Kakashi follows him back to his office, practically stepping on his heels. His heart thuds heavily in his chest, rattling his ribcage. Pale, freckled fingers tremble as he runs them down protective seals, disabling them in a flash. In the next instant Kakashi all but shoves him into the room, the door quietly swinging shut behind them. He almost trips over his feet, twisting his body to grip at Kakashi’s arms. The man’s face is already bare, sharp teeth peeking from pale lips. 

Toshiro twines his fingers into sweaty silver hair and tugs Kakashi’s mouth down. Kakashi’s hands come around him, scarred fingers spreading and shifting to feel as much of Toshiro’s body as possible. The first kiss is relief. It’s the end of sleepless, lonely nights and waiting for the sun to rise with no heat at his side. Kakashi’s lips are dry and chapped, he smells like mud and swamp water and sweat. Toshiro presses closer and closer, wishing the layers clinging to their skin would disappear. He wants to feel Kakashi’s heartbeat, wants to trace over every inch of the man’s body to see if another scar has been added to the wide, varied collection. 

Kakashi dips him further, mouth hot and insistent against his own. Their height difference is never as apparent as it is during moments like these, when Kakashi’s solid, wiry body is a wall that encompasses all of Toshiro. He feels his desk dig into his back, a potted plant clattering lightly with the movement. Kakashi’s tongue traces the seam of his lips, but he pulls away right after. 

Their noses bump gently, and Toshiro stares into mismatched eyes, hoping his own speak all the words his hummingbird heartbeat spell out. 

“I’m home.” Kakashi whispers into the inch of air between them.

“Welcome home.” Toshiro replies, equally as soft, sugar-spun happiness caramelizing in his head. “You really need a shower.”

Kakashi laughs, white fangs flashing brightly behind his crooked grin, the scar pulling taut across his cheek. As if mesmerized, Toshiro moves in and kisses that roguish mouth until it turns pliant and loose once more. Kakashi grips him tight, nipping at the corner of his lips and breathing out harshly through his nose. 

“I’ll get on that.” The Copy-Nin replies, a little breathless. Toshiro wants to count every fluttering, silvery lash lining the man’s eyes.

“You were gone a while.” He says. _I missed you._

“Yeah,” Kakashi murmurs. “It sure felt like it.” _I missed you, too._

Neither of them say it, but Toshiro is sure they both hear it anyway. After all, Kakashi is all about looking _underneath the underneath_. Sometimes you need a guidebook or a translator just to understand exactly what he’s trying to say. 

“But seriously, you really do need a shower.”

* * *

Lightning dances across his tongue. Kakashi bites his way into his mouth, blood and saliva slipping down his chin. In the dark of Kakashi’s room, their bodies shake and undulate under the soft glow of the moon. Skin bare and bitten—sweat beads at his neck, slides down the curve of his spine. 

On his hands and knees, Toshiro’s neck aches at the angle of the kiss, Kakashi pressed to his back like a second skin. The man’s heartbeat rattles their bodies, fluttering a nervous rhythm against Toshiro’s shoulder blade. Silver hair tickles his brow and cheek. He moans into the messy kiss, another tooth snagging on his bottom lip and tearing it. 

Kakashi’s knees bracket his own from behind, his cock slipping between Toshiro’s clenched thighs in a steady, punishing rhythm. Every thrust sets the sensitive skin of his inner thighs alight, Kakashi’s velvety hot cock curving against Toshiro’s own. The slap, slap, slap of skin against skin, damp with exertion and slick with patches of saliva, blood and pre-cum—it echoes in Toshiro’s ears and makes him throb. A cry frees itself from his throat, heat blossoming across his cheekbones as the lewd sounds make his arms shake. He wants to drop down, wants to press his face into the sheets and smother every gasping, sobbing moan that burns past his bitten, bleeding lips.

“ _ Oh, fuck!” _ His arms finally give out in the next moment, sending him face first into the sheets. Fingers scrabble against the loose cotton, spine arching and hips pressing back insistently to meet Kakashi’s thrusts. His ass and thighs glisten, dripping wet with lube and sweat, bright pink with friction and the repetitive smack, smack, smack of Kakashi’s balls and hips. 

Kakashi licks Toshiro’s blood from his lips, hair blazing in the pale, white light. He pulls back to grasp at Toshiro’s hips, blunt nails digging into the firm, freckled flesh. “Not done yet, Toshiro-kun.”

One lightning-scarred hand remains on Toshiro’s hip, the other slides up the center of his sweaty back, tangling in ash blond hair. Deft, strong fingers grasp at the back of Toshiro’s skull, hair gripped tight. Kakashi presses Toshiro’s head firmly into the mattress, a great, looming shadow of pale color and lines in the dark. Toshiro moans, hair sticking wetly to his cheeks, chin and mouth. A pink eye peers blearily behind, catching Kakashi’s abs clench and roll with every thrust. He watches the way Kakashi tilts his head back, eyelashes fluttering and lips parted beautifully, slender neck bobbing and stretching. Sweat collects in defined collarbones, slips down muscles carved from marble—Kakashi is an adonis, the kind of man grecian tragedies are based upon. Ethereal and sad, wild in the throes of lust.

(What silly things we do for love.)

Toshiro curls his fingers, curls his toes. Shakes against the sheets and feels the sting of pleasure-pain as every thrust jostles the iron grip on his hair. “Yes, yes, yes!” He gasps, a high sound from the back of his throat. Strong, sloppy thighs clenching even tighter around Kakashi’s flushed, weeping cock. The man groans again, always more  _ growl _ than  _ whimper. _ His fingers will leave bruises in the pale flesh of Toshiro’s hip.

They’ve been going at for over a half-hour now, building up slow and steady—except Toshiro is on his last legs here, and Kakashi seems insatiable. He gasps against the sheets, stuffed cotton in his head and a hearth for a chest. His blood is scorching, flushing his skin with brilliant reds and pinks.  _ Welcome Home _ sex at its finest.

Kakashi’s hand pulls away, shaking itself loose from twisting, clinging strands of champagne hair. A single finger draws a blistering line over every nob and bump of Toshiro’s spine, pressing sharply into the dimples at the base. Toshiro feels his muscles clench and  _ throb, _ orgasm looming. Kakashi’s thrusting is unrelenting, his hands pinch and pull at the swell of Toshiro’s ass, digging into the quivering, bouncing muscle. A finger circles the soft, sensitive rim of his asshole, then presses and lightly pulls at the puckered skin.

Toshiro screams wetly into the soaked sheets and cums. Pink eyes roll up as white flashes across his vision, tingling heat crests and bursts across every nerve ending one by one, leaving him shaking in his skin. The slide and grind of Kakashi’s cock against his own continues without pause. If anything, Kakashi starts going faster.

“You remember the safeword?”

“Y-Yes—” He whimpers softly, hips trembling. His poor, spent cock is still flushed and throbbing with his release, and the continued stimulation makes his head spin.

“You gonna use it?” The silver-haired nin asks quietly, pausing the movement of his hand. “If it’s too much, I can—”

“If you stop right now you  _ will  _ be the first ANBU Captain to ever get their ass kicked by a  _ chunin.” _ He growls. The sharp, honey-sweet pain of overstimulation makes his heart lodge high in his throat.  _ Pain  _ is just another facet of the shinobi lifestyle, wield the sensation the right way and it makes for some explosive sex. Hence their current situation.

(Toshiro is pretty sure he wasn’t like this before—before bruises and blood became  _ just another day’s work.) _

Kakashi laughs into the dark, “Who exactly is the insatiable one here?”

“Yeah, we’re both horn _ dogs,  _ just, p-please—”

“Please what?” Kakashi whispers, voice like silk. He bends over Toshiro’s back again, so his lips are pressed to Toshiro’s ear. “Please make me cum again? Is that what you’re trying to say?”

A hand curls around Toshiro’s quivering frame and grips his softening cock. He cries out desperately, squirming. Hands tear into the sheets, his grip harsh enough to rip. “Ka—”

Kakashi starts stroking him, “Uh-uh,” he tuts, breath hot and curling around Toshiro’s bright red ear. “Keep your thighs together, yeah—just like that—”

The overstimulation makes him burn, makes him ache like bruise. Everything tingles and he feels like he’s slipped two inches to the right. His body isn’t his own, it’s just a writhing, lustful tangle of open nerves and erogenous zones. Tears sting at the corners of his eyes, slipping down the ridge of his nose and across freckled cheekbones to join the damp mess already below his face. Kakashi keeps stroking him, setting a harsh pace that drives him beyond the point of pleasure—he thinks he’s blacking out. Or dying. He might be dying.

“Kakashi, Kakashi, Kakashi— _ it feels so good! _ ” He tries to say, but he can’t tell if the words leave his numb lips in any coherent manner. His stimulated cock jerks and swells slowly.

“Look at you,” Kakashi whispers, sheer adoration in his tone, enough to make Toshiro whine. “Getting hard again, huh? You’re so fucking cute.”

Toshiro’s legs jerk, the muscles in his thigh tensing and jumping. Kakashi’s knees squeeze against his own, keeping his pliant thighs pressed tight together. Dizzy, drooling!  _ He’s desperation in human form. _ A litany of high pitched moans and gasping whimpers spill without abandon into the sweltering air. The hand on his cum-slick cock twists and tightens, pumping in a disjointed pattern that makes Toshiro feel like crying in earnest. His body doesn’t know whether or not to pull away or chase the next orgasm, while his mind screams for more, more,  _ more. _ It feels good. It hurts.  _ It feels so good. _ He hiccups and shakes his hips to meet Kakashi’s thrusts. 

It’s still— _ so much. _ “I wanna,” he babbles, “ _ I wanna cum!” _

Kakashi squeezes at his swollen, throbbing flesh. “You’re pulsing in my hand, like a little heartbeat.” He picks up speed in jerking Toshiro off, his hips matching the swift pace. It draws a grunt from his chest, and another sob from Toshiro. “You wanna cum really badly, don’t you?”

“ _ Yes _ —but I don’t, don’t k-know if—!” If anything will come out. He’s never had the patience to wring more than one orgasm from himself while jerking off—a dry orgasm would be an entirely new experience.

“I think you can.” The smokey, lust-deep voice curls around Toshiro’s ear. Teeth nip at his earlobe, then a hot tongue licks at the sweat just below. “You’re shaking. Gonna cum soon?”

The fire in his gut grows once more, surging and consuming his sweaty flesh. Every thrust and slide of a firm, scarred hand drives his soul further from his body. His mouth remains agape, lungs desperate for air. Painful heat sears his nervous system, emanating from his red, angry cock. 

He wheezes.

His entire body jerks, cum splashing over Kakashi’s hand. Kakashi curses darkly against Toshiro’s sweat-damp hair, his thrusting hips jerking erratically. With a low groan, the man stutters to a stop. Wet heat hits Toshiro’s stomach and across his aching groin. Toshiro slumps, released from Kakashi’s grip. His body shifts to the side and he lays there, breathing in great, heaving gasps. His muscles jerk involuntarily with the aftershocks. He could fall asleep right now, sweaty and coated in cum. Every bit of him is relaxed and languid, all his stress wrung right out of him. 

He blinks the sting of sweat out of his eyes upon feeling Kakashi’s careful hands maneuver him onto his back. There’s no way he could move right now, even if he tried. Kakashi pulls his weak, coltish legs open.

“Gonna use the safeword?”

Toshiro’s chest heaves with every breath. His entire body is a mess of fluid and exploding synapses. “Not yet.”

Kakashi’s plush, spit-lick lips engulf the damp, angry head of Toshiro’s cock. He throws his head back and screams, back violently arching. His knees rise and squeeze around Kakashi’s head, his soft cock slipping further down the man’s throat.

“Oh!” He sobs loudly, tears streaming down his cheeks. His abdominals quiver and twitch, hips shaking and wiggling desperately to dislodge his persistent lover. But he wants it. Again and again and again. Mouth agape, Toshiro stares blindly up at the moonlit ceiling, hands tangling in Kakashi’s wild silver hair. “I’m gonna die—I can’t—Oh,  _ oh, fuck, oh, ah!” _

Kakashi pulls off with a pop, thumbs pressing into the lube-wet flesh of Toshiro’s inner thighs. “Shinigami-sama can’t have you, I haven’t finished ruining you yet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ngl, that spicy scene came outta nowhere. also this isn't the second time they've had sex...it's been AWHILE since the first time (even if it was only a few chaps ago. haha timeskips), and these boys dont be keepin hands to themselves kajlsdlka
> 
> *7/22/20 EDIT: changed some of the nsfw scene!
> 
> check out my [tumblr](https://spideyfoof.tumblr.com/) for art stuff, drabbles and to ask questions!


	26. peat moss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *crush on you by tata young begins to play, you're transported back to early 2000's amv culture*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eyy nsfw warning again y'all, a lot of the lead up is p important to kakashi's thought process, so i think if u dont care for the sexy times u can safely skip starting from "toshiro is asleep when kakashi gets home" to the end of the scene, picking up at "maybe they're both a little bent,"

With the Chunin Exams fast approaching, it seems as if every eligible genin is training to their limits. More often than not, this leads to quite a few landing themselves in the hospital for chakra exhaustion or some other similar ailment. As Toshiro is sending off a mulish boy of fourteen—hoping to earn a vest in the next few weeks—with a freshly healed burn scar, he runs into Kabuto. 

The silver-haired teen is well-liked yet relatively unknown, an odd conundrum. People know  _ of _ him but they do not  _ know _ him, and well—some people are just like that. Shinobi especially. Toshiro himself hadn’t really dwelled on the idea of having or making friends when he’d been younger. Now, however, he doesn’t think he’d give up the bonds he’s forged for anything in the world. 

“Sensei, it’s good to see you.” 

Toshiro smiles, brows slightly furrowed. “You as well, Kabuto-san. I see you’re still working hard.”

The teen glances down at the stack of folders in his arms, a sheepish expression crossing his bespectacled features. “Oh, no, it’s nothing really. I find myself with too  _ much _ time on my hands these days, so I’ve been offering help to the senior staff.” 

“Wow,” Toshiro replies, and finds himself believing his next words. “How kind of you. With an attitude like that, you’ll be making your way up the ladder in no time.”

Behind his round glasses, Kabuto’s midnight gray eyes go wide, “T-That’s the last thing on my mind!”

Toshiro laughs softly, knocking their elbows together gently as they walk. “Relax, I’m just teasing you! Though I do think you could do it if you tried. Thank you for all your hard work, you really make a difference here.”

The sound of their footsteps rings into the quiet, along with the faintest exhale from Kabuto, just a tad too heavy. A tad too loud. Toshiro glances over at the younger man, but there is a disarming smile affixed to that pale face and nothing else. The round lenses perched atop his straight nose glint under the harsh fluorescent lights, hiding whatever emotion might possibly be present in the man’s dark eyes. Toshiro gleans nothing but kindness, nothing but the soft edge of Kabuto’s smile. 

“Thank you. I’ll see you around, Aikawa-sensei.” The man says. He moves ahead, turning a corner while Toshiro pauses, sandals squeaking against the freshly polished floors. 

“See you…” Is all Toshiro manages, wondering why that interaction felt so odd. 

* * *

Shikamaru has grown from a child of soft lines and bright, big eyes; too big, big enough to see the world and all its faults. That doesn’t mean, of course, that he understands it all. Not then, and perhaps not now. Not yet. But every day he grows, that softness shifting into something sharper, like hot, molten metal hammered into a blade. Toshiro can see that sharpness too, flinty and piercing in Shikamaru’s eyes. 

It comes in bursts, during the times he’s most needed and the times you least expect it. Once again, Toshiro can’t help but think that Shikamaru would make a good Hokage. But that is not to be, as Naruto’s dream is like a living, breathing entity, and Shikamaru is helpless in the face of blue, blue eyes. The shadow behind the sun. 

“Shi-ka-ma-ru~!” Naruto crows, loud and sweet. The tang of freshly peeled oranges hangs heavy in the air. Their sticky fingers interlock as Shikamaru tries to fend off Naruto’s wiggling hands, heavy with intent to tickle. 

“Naruto!” The Nara groans, “Quit messin’ around!”

The team sits among the flowering bushes in the Hatake’s backyard, a blanket spread below their bodies. Before them is an assortment of fruit and half-eaten trays of gooey, store-bought dango glistening in the harsh summer sun. Sakura laughs at Shikamaru’s misfortune and swipes an apple slice from the boy’s plate.

Behind Toshiro’s spot on the engawa, the door slides open. Team 10 wanders out, bare feet padding softly against the hardwood.

“Gin!” Sakura exclaims, pushing herself up from the blanket. Both Shikamaru and Naruto blink, limbs going slack with surprise. 

Gin’s eyes widen when Sakura reaches up to pull him off the engawa. “I need to show you my progress on that shuriken technique you showed me!” She says, pale features flushed with eagerness. Her happiness blooms like the springtime trees she’s named after. The two wander over to the designated practice area, Sakura’s hand still wrapped around Gin’s wrist.

Sasuke takes a step after them, then halts, face twisted up like he’s stumbled upon a particularly difficult problem. Pitch black eyes track the two, his mouth set in a harsh frown, bloodless and worried.

Ino hooks her arm through his and drags him off to Naruto and Shikamaru. The four fit on the blanket with ease, and Ino proceeds to help herself to some of the fruit still left out. Sasuke leans against Shikamaru’s shoulder and grumpily accepts an orange slice from Naruto. The blond boy squints, face narrowed in the usual foxy manner.

He leans across Shikamaru, tanned cheek brushing the Nara’s. “Hey, hey, Sasuke! Why do ya look like someone spit in your ramen?”

Shikamaru jerks his head back at Naruto’s proximity, resignation heavy in the amber of his eyes. He adjusts himself with the familiar ease of someone who’s had their personal space intruded upon one too many times. Though his skin is dark, the apples of his cheeks deepen even further, to a ruddy rouge. The corners of his lips purse downwards, gaze tracking to the side in reluctant embarrassment. 

“Mind your business!” Sasuke snaps in reply, normally pale face marred with rosy hues. At his side, Ino shares a glance with Shikamaru, knowing and exasperated. She, while Shikamaru looks completely done with the situation, has never appeared more impish, if the way her eyes gleam is any indication. 

Little secrets spoken with glancing looks and blushing cheeks. Shikamaru’s knuckles bump Naruto’s on the blanket. Amber-dark eyes track the frustrated movement of Naruto’s hair as the boy vehemently argues with Sasuke. They bicker like long-lost siblings, while Ino interjects to fuel the fire at carefully chosen intervals. 

From the other side of the yard, Sakura’s laughter is high and loud, straight from her belly. Her elbow brushes Gin’s as the two wander back over. “Naruto!” Her mouth slows, lips hesitant. A look of determination crosses her sun-warm features. “Sasuke! Quit arguing, we’re genin now!”

“Mou~ Sakura-chan, he started it!”

Sasuke doesn’t look at her. His ears burn red. “Tch.”

“Well I’m ending it!”

They all settle together, Gin stuck between Sasuke and Ino, and Sakura leaning into Naruto’s open side. The food begins to disappear rapidly, greedily ingested by the rag-tag group of growing teens. Not once does Gin’s whole face get revealed, food mysteriously vanishing from his hands. It starts up another argument about seeing his face, one that Toshiro has overheard a thousand times before—though about Kakashi, mostly.

Toshiro stays quiet, pressing his fingertips to his mouth to wipe away the smile there. Later, he finds all six of them slumbering in the orange evening light, hands sticky with the remnants of their snacks, their limbs tangled and bodies piled haphazardly. Sasuke has one hand tangled in Gin’s shirt and the lower half of his body thrown over Shikamaru. Naruto’s face is crammed against Sakura’s head, pink strands caught in his drooling mouth. Ino somehow ended up with her knee against Gin’s shoulder, and her head pillowed on his thigh. Sakura sleeps the most peacefully out of all of them, her arm stretched out under naruto, fingers tangled with Shikamaru’s.

He snaps a picture. There’s quite a few people who will want copies.

* * *

The thing is, Kakashi had previously assumed that getting together with Toshiro would sate the feverish inferno in his gut. Instead, he’s only grown more desperate, hunger pooling achingly hot and volatile down every inch of his body. His jaw aches with the need to bite, to sink his knife-life teeth into the soft, supple flesh of Toshiro—of any part, really, from the other man’s soft thighs to his freckled neck. Just to see that pale skin flush pale rose, to see it bead with salty sweat and split and bleed carnation red. Some days, Kakashi thinks he’s sick. Twisted. Cracked, in a way that can’t possibly be fixed. His formative years are slick with rivers of red, red blood and gore-stained fingertips. He remembers killing three men and waking that night with an erection, fifteen and all body-hot hormones and murderous, tempestuous intent. Remembers how sex and death sat side by side in his head, never touching but always present. He never gave in to his body’s desires as a growing teen or young adult, not until Toshiro. 

_ Child soldiers really don’t grow right. _ Always a little twisted, a little too sharp. Like snarling roots and knotted tree trunks, the ugliest, most vicious trees in the forest. The ones that either splinter in a storm or weather through the ages. Shisui is the same, perhaps that’s why Kakashi tolerates him so much. They look into each other and see a mirror, their faces reflected back in each other’s eyes. Shisui grins too sharply, like razor wire, like the thin lines across skin drawn by a knife. Kakashi doesn’t smile at all, just uses his eyes to lie, to mock and divert and destroy. The same beast in different shapes.

He wonders if it’s okay to like the way Toshiro bleeds and bruises as he screams his ecstasy, sweet and high like tacky candy and summer ice cream. He wonders if it’s okay that the pretty picture Toshiro makes when he’s shaking, sweaty and covered in cum and blood turns Kakashi on to the point where he sees stars, feels wolves tearing at his mind. Violence invades every aspect of Kakashi’s life; he eats, sleeps and breathes it, was raised with a knife in one hand and the expectation to slit someone’s throat in the other. 

He wants to be soft.

Wants to be everything Toshiro desires, deserves.

But there’s no denying that his cock swells when it’s a little rougher, a little wild and burning and heart-racing—when adrenaline kicks in and that sick, grimy part of his brain howls and rattles the bars of his self-control. He doesn’t know how to separate his sexual desire from the homegrown violence he’s indoctrinated with. 

Toshiro holds Kakashi’s face like he’s something precious, dripping gore and ravenous teeth and all. The shorter, younger man bites and bruises right back, egging on that wild part of Kakashi and he thinks, maybe, just maybe, underneath the pretty mouth and soft eyes and rose-petal flesh, Toshiro is just as yearning and bloody as Kakashi. 

Kakashi, who never needed sex, never wanted it, now can’t bring himself to stop seeking it out. Seeking the warmth and wetness, that salty tang, the rabbit-thump of Toshiro’s heart while Kakashi looms, wolf and murderer, over him. And whenever Kakashi slips, whenever he sinks and goes too far, Toshiro is there to pull him back. To teach him to set boundaries, to say no, to push, to wonder, to experiment. Because they don’t teach six-year-olds sex education; no, they send them to war, to die in muddy banks and bloody rivers. To grow into awkward, gangly bodies, to have their first erections during fights, when they’re sore and bloody, in the steamy, pulse-pounding adrenaline of it all, because teenaged bodies get turned on over everything and nothing at all. 

(It’s all blood flow. All accidental. All natural. It’s all the experience battlefield children get.)

Toshiro is asleep when Kakashi gets home. Slack and gorgeous against dark sheets, loose yukata in disarray. The blanket is kicked to the ground, and the fabric of his white yukata twists around his freckled legs and slips to reveal stark collarbones, heavy with shadows. Hair spills loose around his head, tangled in curled fingers and caught in the damp of his bottom lip. Kakashi is a silent wraith, swathed in the gloom of the night and peering like an intruder at the sleeping siren in his bed. He feels dirty, just standing here and watching, reveling in the steady breathing and rise and fall of Toshiro’s chest.

One side of the yukata pulls open a bit more than the other, revealing the milky expanse of Toshiro’s chest; a pert, dusky pink nipple, the ripple of muscle taut over a fragile rib cage. The man has always slept a little too easy in the house. A little too heavily.

Something hot curls in Kakashi stomach, twisting and tingling. He finds himself closer without meaning, fingers wandering over the soft fabric, too fearful to reach for the warm skin both bared and below. It’s late, he doesn’t want to wake Toshiro. He just wants to admire, to burn this image into his head, until he can recall it with perfect accuracy a hundred years from now. 

The wolf rattles Kakashi’s chest. His fingers tremble, curling in loose white fabric. The plush, corded muscles of Toshiro’s thighs are slowly revealed, the yukata pulling taut at his waist. Kakashi swallows tightly, remembering exactly how it feels to fuck those thighs, remembering the soft swell of them in shorts, the taut clench that comes with a high kick. Kakashi thinks he has a problem, because he’s indecently attracted to this area of Toshiro, likes biting and sucking marks into them, likes squeezing the trembling muscle, pressing his fingertips into the plush flesh until it bruises.

Toshiro’s yukata is completely open now, revealing his bottom half entirely. He’s wearing dark blue boxers. Kakashi glances down to his traitorous hands, brows furrowed.

A hand brushes his thigh. 

Kakashi stiffens, meeting Toshiro’s sleepy, barely open eyes. 

His smile is buttery soft, endearing, “Pervert.”

A huff escapes Kakashi’s lips, and he pulls them back to flash predatory teeth. Toshiro’s hand tangles in Kakashi’s pants, pulling him insistently. Kakashi’s knees sink into the mattress, and he hovers his body over Toshiro’s content, pliant form. All sleep soft and angelic in his mussed yukata, too much skin showing—a demon, rather than an angel, perhaps, an incubus. 

Toshiro’s pale hands slide up his own body, over rippling abs and the slight swell of his pecs. Long fingers brush carefully over ruddy nipples, pinching and rubbing until they stand to attention, flush and trembling. Soft breaths escape Toshiro’s mouth as he plays with his chest, and Kakashi stares, enraptured, as arousal slowly fills the air and drowns out all other senses.

He watches quietly, still as a statue, eyes glinting and sharp and unwavering. He doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, barely breathes. 

“You like to watch.” Toshiro whispers, like a secret. Like it’s something not meant for the air. His lips are parted and trembling, wet with the swipe of a slick tongue. Pink slowly shrinks under an expanding pupil. His hips undulate erotically, offering no sensation but revealing lustful desperation. Those pretty fingers continue to pluck at pretty nipples. Kakashi thinks he could die, shame and lust and wild, wild fervor colliding into a maelstrom of emotion. 

One of Toshiro’s hands slides back down his chest, past quivering muscles. It slips under the last scrap of fabric—the boxers—covering his slowly hardening cock. Unseen, hidden, like it’s something Kakashi’s not supposed to bear witness to. Toshiro strokes his cock in his underwear, the fabric shifting and bulging with the movements of his wrist, wet spots dampening the already dark cloth. He moans breathily, lower back arching. His thighs shake. 

Kakashi’s throat is dry, and his own underwear is growing very, very wet. Arousal surges through him like chakra before a jutsu, but he still can’t bring himself to move. He just hovers above Toshiro’s body on his hands and knees, watching. An eye tracks the slow descent of a single bead of sweat, heart thumping erratically as it slips down the curve of Toshiro’s jaw and wets the straining muscles of his neck.

“You like it, don’t you?” Toshiro goads, as straight-forward as usual. As blown with lust as his eyes are, they’re still piercing in a different way. The kind of soul-searing, flesh-flaying way that makes Kakashi remember that Toshiro is a child genius too. “I can tell.”

“I do.” Kakashi breathes, or maybe groans. He can’t tell anymore. He’s a sick man. 

Toshiro moans, sucking his bottom lip into his stupidly sinful mouth, pulling the flesh until it goes bloodless white, his hips shaking. He still looks drowsy, still slack with sleep, but he humps the air and thumbs his nipple like he’s been awake for days, like he’s been craving Kakashi just as much as Kakashi craves him. 

_ Unthinkable. _

“You can watch.” Toshiro murmurs, pink eyes hazy, “I don’t mind.”

“Yeah?” Kakashi licks his dry lips, hoarse.

Toshiro lets out a soft whimper, a quiet chorus of  _ oh, oh, oh’s _ that makes Kakashi tingle all down his spine like he’s been electrified. He throws his head back, champagne hair twisting under the movement, “Nng! Oh, oh, Kakashi, Kakashi—”

Kakashi’s cock pulses angrily against the now too-tight fabric of his pants. Every breath rattles his chest, like his bones are made of loose screws and metal. “I like watching you touch yourself. I like the way you look when you want my touch so  _ badly _ it hurts, and you make yourself cum and it’s not enough—it’s never enough because it’s not my mouth or hands or cock, it’s just you, and I can make you cum so good, I swear—” Kakashi groans out a sharp expletive as Toshiro keens, those pretty, flushed thighs trembling.

“I think something’s wrong with me,” he admits mournfully, pants it into the open, steamy air like a dog—like the animal he must be. “I want to make you cry. I want to make you dirty.”

Toshiro’s breath catches and his body shudders violently, like he’s been shocked. “You can, you can—” The man gasps, “Do it, do whatever you want—”

_ Yes, _ some dark, raptor-like part of Kakashi’s stupid animal brain coos,  _ Yes, yes, yes. _ He swallows audibly, mouth set in a rueful, crooked smile. How did he get here? From a man who avoided all attachment to a man who’s so fucking  _ gone _ on another, so desperate for another’s flesh and heart and soul. 

_ We are wolves, Kakashi. And we are human, too. We fall prey to all the follies of man. _

(Father, I am the prey and the predator.)

Kakashi wants to fall. Wants to sink into Toshiro’s skin and bury into the man’s heart, wants to crack open his ribcage and offer his beating, bloody organ in return. 

“Make yourself cum.” He orders softly, tonguing the words with far too much care, “Keep fucking your fist until you spill all over your pretty little hand and ruin your underwear. Tell me to touch you.”

“Touch me!” Toshiro obliges, legs spread indecently, invitingly. Still, not one bit of them touches. It would be so easy,  _ too easy. _ Just inches apart, hovering, straining—

Kakashi grins, wolfish, dangerous. “No.”

“Please,” Toshiro begs, voice catching. His chest heaves and trembles, sweat-damp and flushed a pretty red that Kakashi can barely make out in the dim light. “Touch me, please. Kakashi, I want you—”

“That’s it,” Kakashi murmurs, cock pulsing with every jumping, excited beat of his twisted heart. “Moan for me. Tell me how badly you want me.”

“Want you, want you, want—” Toshiro shakes, hips bucking wildly, desperately searching for the friction Kakashi refuses to provide. His hand continues to jerk his cock, pace stuttering, wetness smeared all over the front of his boxers. The fabric makes sticky, squelching sounds. “I’ll die—oh,” A moan, long and drawn out, spun like cotton candy, tooth-rotting and bone-shaking. “Fuck me, want you to fuck me—”

“No.” Kakashi says, a sick sort of glee in the curve of his smile.

Toshiro goes cross-eyed, his muscled thighs spasm and jerk, and quickly, all too quickly, horny and desperate and lewd— “Cummin’, cumming—” he babbles.

Kakashi rips the underwear right off of Toshiro’s body, the sound of tearing fabric ignored. He watches with greedy eyes as Toshiro cries out, hips arched up and cock purpled and pulsing, cum shooting in spurts from the swollen, ruddy tip. The younger man sobs into the summer night, abdomen rippling. Picturesque in his beautiful, pleasured agony, muscles slackening and mouth in a perfect O. 

Kakashi leans back and gets off the bed. Toshiro watches with blissed out eyes, acceptance in every line of his sex-flushed face. 

Kakashi takes off his clothes.

He waits for the safeword.

It doesn’t come.

* * *

Maybe they’re both a little bent, a little twisted from a childhood of too heavy expectations and desires, of pressure never meant to be foisted upon young, growing shoulders. The darkness in Kakashi is wide and gaping, a bloody maw lined with teeth. Toshiro smiles and licks the blood from his scarred flesh. When Kakashi is a rabid, snarling animal, Toshiro is the hand that feeds.

What a pair they make.

* * *

The morning of the Chunin Exams dawns bright and warm, a few fat, cottony clouds floating about the expansive blue. The streets are loud with excited chatter, gossip about foreign nin the highlight of a civilian’s day. It’s not often those who aren’t shinobi come into contact with foreign ones—and live to tell about it. For the Hatake household, it’s just another day. No one is taking the Chunin Exams this time, not meeting the six month minimum. 

It’s important to Itachi, however, because it’s his first time showcasing his capabilities in ruling over Konoha to another Kage, one older and more experienced than him. As far as Toshiro knows, only the Kazekage is showing up, but shinobi from Kusa, Ame, Taki and Oto—the last of which is a country Toshiro isn’t familiar with—have been wandering around the designated streets for the past week.

Itachi has been far more stressed than usual.

And Toshiro still hasn’t brought up the prospect of having Test Tube Babies with Kakashi, even though he promised himself he would. Or at least he’d  _ try. _ Which he hasn’t, at all. The project still has a ways to go, so it’s not like he  _ can’t _ afford to put off the conversation for a while. It’s odd to not just bare his heart, to not be blunt and straightforward with his thoughts and feelings. Maybe it’s because this topic is deeply personal and they’re both fractured, tenuous beings. They still have moments where they waver and crash, before cresting over the next hill, the next bump in the road.

Kakashi, more than Toshiro, needs time. Time to heal, time to change, time to grow. The man’s mind was battered into a blade at a young age, and he’s only now learning that it wasn’t  _ right. _ What he went through was  _ wrong. _ Kakashi is still learning how to be a functioning adult.

Bringing up children of their own— _ babies _ —might set back that progress. 

They aren’t ready.

(Kakashi isn’t ready.)

Chiasa is busy more often than not with her team, growing far too fast into a woman with plans of her own. Tsushika and Atsuzumi are always found at her side. Toshiro barely ever sees them apart—and he can only hope the other kids grow as close to their teams as she has. There’s no doubt in his mind that Team 7 and Team 10 will, as they are  _ already  _ basically living in each other’s pockets. Team 8 and Team 5? Who knows.

Sai has slowly and gradually warmed up to his team, though he clearly favors Hinata over Kiba. Toshiro knows this for a fact, as he witnessed Sai and Ino walking hand in hand while gossiping about their teams. 

Shockingly—Tsunade finally left. She’d overstayed far longer than anticipated, likely caught up in nostalgia for the life she left behind. Shizune was a great help at the hospital, obviously skilled in medical ninjutsu, though definitely not on par with Tsunade herself. (A hard feat.) 

Tsunade never showed her face at the hospital.

( _ Scared of blood, _ Shizune had confided.)

And—well. Something in Toshiro...softened. Because sometimes he forgets that people are people, and they work in their own individual, unique ways. Tsunade lived through war, was raised in a Konoha more accepting of three year olds with kunai, of turning babies into soldiers that cut their fingers on blades before they lost their baby teeth. PTSD? Expected.

She was probably riddled with it. To be so terrified of blood that you can’t even continue your life’s work?  _ Something integral in Tsunade is cracked and bleeding. _ Maybe it was better for her to run, to escape the cage that disregarded her pain in favor of pushing for her skills. Skills she couldn’t stand to use anymore.

He lets the bitterness in his chest fade. He doesn’t think he’d make the same decisions as her, doesn’t think he’d end up leaving this village behind. While she runs to escape, he runs to the future. He will use his pain to drag Konoha along the path of change. And he’s not mad at her for not doing the same.

(Because he has a life inside his head that doesn’t belong to this world, and all she had was blood under her fingernails and ash on her tongue.)

* * *

“So.” Inoka drawls, her manicured nails tapping a beat against polished wood.

Fuyumi sips her tea demurely, her pale skin betraying her with an easy flush that spreads from cheek to cheek. She doesn’t reply, but the blush only serves to goad Inoka into spluttering laughter.

“Oh my Sage!” The Yamanaka gasps, her exclamation loud in the little tea shop. “Who is it! Tell me, tell me, tell me!”

“Inoka,” Toshiro admonishes, though he can’t help the grin pulling at his lips. 

Fuyumi sends him a betrayed look, obviously catching the lack of intent behind his reprimand. He shrugs in return. 

“What? I’m a little curious too. You’ve been disappearing a lot.” He admits, “So…”

“Do you have a boyfriend or what!” Inoka finishes eagerly, palms slapping against the table.

“Do  _ you?” _ Fuyumi mutters back, attempting to hide her face behind her tiny teacup.

Inoka groans and leans back, “NO! Aoba is the densest man on the  _ planet, _ and I witnessed Toshiro and Kakashi flounder like blind babies!”

“Thanks.”

She shoots him a grin, “You’re welcome. Still not as bad as Genma and Raidou.”

“Well, that’s something, I suppose.”

“Let’s not get off track,” Inoka turns her sharp, pupil-less gaze on Fuyumi. “C’mon, spill. What, can’t tell your bestest friends in the whole wide world about your secret little rendezvous?”

The Uchiha sighs in exasperation, tucking a strand of blue-black hair behind an ear. It’s out of her usual braid today, spilling over one of her shoulders. “It’s...nothing. I don’t know.” Her brow furrows delicately, a shadow passing over her pale, pretty features.

Toshiro and Inoka share a look.  _ Well, that doesn’t sound good. _

“Is it your clan?” Inoka asks, tone much softer.

Fuyumi’s mouth twitches in an aborted smile, “You could say that. My parents expect me to marry an Uchiha man of their choosing and have a child as soon as possible.”

Pink eyes narrow, tongue in cheek. “Let me guess,” he says, “Whoever you’re seeing isn’t Uchiha, or approved.”

She doesn’t reply for a moment, shoulders slumped with a great weight that Toshiro can’t see, can only imagine. Her eyes still retain the same too-serious expression they always do, “I wouldn’t say we’re seeing each other.”

“But you’re interested.” Inoka states it like a fact, not a question.

Fuyumi tilts her head, the flush reigniting on her skin. “I would not be...opposed to further interaction.”

“ _ I would not be opposed, _ she says,” Inoka mutters, “Man, don’t be so formal. It’s just us, not your stick-up-the-ass family.”

Toshiro has an idea of who it could be, mostly from Shisui’s hints and ribbing. Him and Fuyumi are pretty close, being first cousins. Toshiro knows the other man is actually pretty concerned about the whole situation, and neither of them want to see Fuyumi pressured into a marriage she wants no part in.

“Isn’t your clan pretty careful with...love related issues?” He inquires. “If you say you’ve got your eye on someone, won’t they lay off?”

“Not necessarily,” Fuyumi replies carefully, obsidian eyes peering unseeingly down at the table. “If I’m not in a relationship, then something as minor as a...passing crush won’t stop them for long.”

Inoka hums, “But if you  _ were _ in a relationship?”

Fuyumi squints up at the other woman, “What exactly are you suggesting.”

“Well,” The blond drawls, “You could always  _ tell them _ you’re in a relationship.”

“That would be lying!” Fuyumi splutters, “I’d be found out instantly—they’d want to meet him—”

“So let them!” 

Fuyumi makes another sputtering noise. “He—But!”

“He doesn’t seem the type to leave you in a poor situation.” Toshiro comments idly, fingers tracing the rim of his tea cup.

Inoka’s eyes laser in on him, mouth agape. “You know who it is?”

He flicks his gaze towards Fuyumi, who looks caught off guard. “I have a guess. Then again, that doesn’t exactly mean much, as I don’t know his name.” His  _ guess _ is a certain cat-masked ANBU man with Mokuton, which is definitely a can of worms the Uchiha would be up in arms about.

Fuyumi sighs, “You know that’s classified information. I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

“Ho?” Inoka raises a brow, lips unfurling into a gleeful smile, “So it’s that kind’a thing, huh? Then I’ll find out on my own. Don’t worry Fuyumi, we’ll get you your man!”

“That’s not—What about  _ your  _ man!”

“Double dates! Think of it, Fuyumi, think of it! No, wait,  _ triple dates _ if we can get that scarecrow on board!”

“You’re thinking too much!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> check out my [tumblr!](https://spideyfoof.tumblr.com/) it has links to the discord/spotify, in case you missed them in earlier chapters :)


	27. thornbush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the no good, very bad chunin exams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao dont kill me haha :)))  
> [tumblr!](https://spideyfoof.tumblr.com/)

“Decided on a name yet?”

Hoshika hums absently, her hand on her barely-there baby bump. She’s just started to show, about sixteen weeks into the pregnancy. Last week, Toshiro had determined that their firstborn was, in fact, a girl. They were going to have a daughter.

“Not yet,” she replies, “We’re still wondering if we want to go with a traditional Nara or Uchiha name—or just mix it up entirely.”

He pauses at the entrance to the Exam Stadium, hands in his pockets. Today the final test will take place, a series of one-on-one battles with the remaining contenders. Significantly more foreign nin had made it to the final rounds than expected—perhaps only because so few Konoha genin were taking the exams this time around. 

Gai’s team made it. All three of them. Toshiro hasn’t personally met them, but he does know that the Hyuuga—Neji—is Atsuzumi’s cousin. 

“Toshi-nii, Hoshi-nee!” Naruto calls, one arm waving frantically. He’s halfway down the steps, easily catching their attention. “We’re all seated ‘n saved ya some spots!”

“Oh, good.” He replies, following the spirited boy up into the stands with Hoshika beside him. All the kids were far too excited to sit around and wait for Toshiro and Hoshika’s slow, meandering pace. They’d bolted ahead under the guise of saving seats. 

The group is easy to spot, all the Teams and younger Hatake crowded by the front. Toshiro squints his eyes against the sun as he exits the stairway. Hundreds of voices create a wall of sound, conversations unidentifiable. It’s loud and warm, most of the crowd buzzing with excitable energy. Sasuke, Gin and Ino sit grouped together, Sasuke in the middle so that Takehiko can sit beside Gin and Sai can sit beside Ino. Hinata huddles in on herself on the other side of Sai, a buffer between the Hatake and Kiba. Her lavender gaze keeps flicking bashfully behind her to an oblivious Naruto—and timidly ahead to a frowning Neji, who’s across the stadium with his team, prepared for the upcoming matches. Team 5 and Team 7 sit in the row behind Team’s 10 and 8, and then behind them sit Haruki and Asuhi, with three seats open. Two of them are for Toshiro and Hoshika, the other is for Touma—who’s at the railing, practically heaving himself onto the field.

Touma’s wild, curly hair bounces as he rocks back and forth on his heels, hands grasping the railing. His purple eyes are locked on the genin from Suna. Mouth agape, the ten year old points a finger at one of them, the youngest boy with hair like blood. “Who’s _that.”_

“According to the registry, Sabaku no Gaara.” Sai answers, “The youngest child of the Kazekage.”

“Oooh,” Touma murmurs, eyes sparkling. “He looks cool!”

Toshiro tries not to let his expression shift to exasperation. Of course Touma would look at the one child with murderous vibes rolling off of him and think _cool._ Hoshika snorts softly beside him, slumping into one of the open seats beside Asuhi. It’s too bad that Kakashi and Shisui are on bodyguard duty, forced to watch the matches from above—underneath the hot sun. Chiasa and her team are on a mission out of the Village, and Inoka is stuck on a shift in T&I. Fuyumi denied any interest in coming, so it’s just Toshiro and Hoshika left to watch the gaggle of kids. All their senseis have jumped ship, choosing to sit with the other jounin rather than their ickle genin.

(Toshiro can’t blame them. These kids have far too much energy.)

Asuhi, who’s sitting directly behind Shino, is peering over his shoulder with a distinctly _lacking_ concept of personal space, asking a million questions about the bugs crawling over his knuckles. The Aburame looks rather flustered at the attention, answering every question to the best of his ability and trying his hardest not to trip over his words. Sai and Ino are holding hands over the seat dividers, whispering the latest gossip to each other. The two of them are like sharks—and when Sasuke gets involved? Now _that_ was a Mean Girls trio if Toshiro ever saw one.

Kojika, who is sitting directly behind Kiba, is rather taken by Akamaru, who’s perched on Kiba’s shoulder and lapping up all the attention he can from the lavender-haired Hatake. The Inuzuka is yapping away about something or the other, not realizing that Kojika is paying more attention to his ninken than his words. Gin and Sasuke are almost entirely turned around in their seats, having a four-way conversation with Naruto and Sakura, who sit just behind them. Shikamaru is on Naruto’s other side, somehow dozing off against the blond’s shoulder despite Naruto’s loud voice and frequent hand movements. Sakura still blushes whenever Sasuke’s attention is on her for a long period of time, but her voice no longer wavers and she isn’t afraid to meet his eyes. She still occasionally sends him lovelorn looks that make him shift and—flush, which is new. But his ears also burn red whenever Gin’s shoulder or hand bumps his own. Gin, meanwhile, is unflappable. Or oblivious to the tension.

Toshiro has no idea what’s going on between the three of them. It’s hard to say when hormones get involved, and he’s quite content to let them figure it out for themselves. He’s not touching that with a ten foot pole. No thanks.

“A hundred ryo says Gin-kun is the last to realize he’s in a love triangle.” Hoshika mutters under her breath, her gaze even more observant than Toshiro’s.

“That’s a fool’s bet,” he replies, just as quietly. “How much are you willing to bet that Shikamaru confesses to Naruto?”

She snorts in a rather unladylike manner, “That’s a matter of _when,_ not _if._ Shikaku’s already drafting another Clan-merging marriage contract.”

Toshiro presses a hand to his lips to stifle a sharp burst of laughter. “The world isn’t ready for Uzumaki-Nara.”

“Tough,” Hoshika says, one dark brow raised, “It’s definitely happening.”

“You think it’ll last that long?” _They’re just kids,_ he doesn’t say. Somewhere between twelve and thirteen, barely at the start of puberty.

Hoshika grins, a sly, shadowy thing, “A Nara always gets what they want. We’re patient like that.”

_Terrifying, more like._

His Nara friend grins wider, like she read his thoughts.

(He’s not so sure she didn’t.)

* * *

The first fight is Sabaku no Kankuro versus Tenten. It’s an interesting match-up, as both contestants are reliant on long-range attacks. He really doesn’t know much about Gai’s team, but Tenten is clearly well trained. Enough to wipe the floor with the Suna boy, whose puppets are incredibly well built and versatile, but not enough when senbon jam the joints up. It’s a quick match, but a good one. It gets the crowd heated for the next one, the cheers almost deafening to shinobi ears. He can’t even imagine how the kids feel. Not great, if the winces say anything.

Neji is next, against a Kusa nin that’s at least a foot taller and a handful of years older. When he steps out into the field, Hinata tenses up and clasps her hands to her chest. Toshiro isn’t sure if she’s worried he’ll lose—or that he won’t. At her sides, Kiba and Sai press in for comfort, perhaps unknowingly. The sight makes Toshiro smile, and Hoshika rolls her eyes and elbows him with a smirk of her own.

The Hyuuga boy is incredibly skilled. He moves with the kind of grace that shinobi spend _years_ trying to achieve, dark hair whipping behind him like a war banner. Usually, long hair is worn only by seasoned or experienced shinobi, as it can be used too easily against you if an enemy manages to grab hold of it. Somehow, Toshiro is quite certain that no one gets close to Neji unless the boy allows it. Like he’s dancing, Neji shifts through different kata seamlessly, limbs snake-like and fluid as they twist through the air to land lightning fast jabs. The Kusa shinobi doesn’t stand a chance. Neji barely breaks a sweat under the raging summer sun before it’s over, head held high and expression stern. He looks like a younger, more severe version of Atsuzumi.

Toshiro can’t bring himself to think that the comparison is a good thing.

In her seat, Hinata sighs quietly and sags, lavender eyes wavering as she looks upon the form of the boy who may as well be her older brother.

The next match is the girl from the Suna squad—Sabaku no Temari—and a genin from Oto with bandages wrapped around a majority of their face. Still not in his seat, Touma jumps up and down by the railing, pointing and making sounds of amazement. 

“Look at her fan! It’s huuuuge! Do you think she had to carry it all the way across the desert? Does her back hurt? What’s it made out of? You’d think it would tear easily in combat—”

“Touma.” Sai says, “Please go to your seat and stop making a ruckus.”

The purple-eyed boy frowns, but obeys his older brother with only a few grumbles. He sits himself beside Haruki and crosses his arms grumpily. Within moments, all his annoyance will be forgotten—that’s just the kind of kid Touma is. He’s come far, far out of his shell, no longer the nervous boy who’d gripped Kakashi and Toshiro’s hands on the way out of the Yamanaka Compound.

Temari wins her fight as well, vicious and grinning by the end of it, even with blood streaming down her ears. 

“Whoa,” Gin murmurs, gray eyes narrowed in consideration. He watches her leave the field with interest. “She’s strong.”

“Sakura could beat her!” Sasuke blurts out, immediate regret seeping into his eyes the second the words finish leaving his mouth.

The pink-haired genin looks surprised, her cheeks flushing deep red. “I-I don’t know…”

“Believe in yourself, Sakura!” Naruto interjects without much tact, fist waving in her face. “I’m sure you could do it!”

Shikamaru grumbles, tugging Naruto’s sleeve, “Don’t get involved in their mating dance.”

Both Sasuke and Sakura gape at the Nara’s audacity, while Gin glances between them all with no small measure of confusion.

“Anyway,” the Hatake boy says, “Watching makes me wish I could try my hand at it. I’m excited to participate next time.”

“That’s _if_ Kurenai-sensei lets us.” Sasuke grumbles, taking the opportunity to save face.

“You think she won’t?” Ino exclaims, popping her head over Sasuke’s shoulder. “We’re amazing, there’s no way she won’t recommend us!”

Toshiro leans his cheek against his palm, elbow propped on the armrest. He’s a little jealous of their excitement—of their sparkling eyes and hopeful voices. He never got to take the Chunin Exams. No, it was on a battlefield among corpses and dead-eyed shinobi who still drew breath that he was thrown a vest and told ‘ _good job.’_ It had been too big for his small body; more hindrance than help, so he’d never taken to wearing it back then. Sometimes he wonders what it would have been like, had his team made it through the war. The first team—his genin team. He can’t even remember their faces—had only had them for a handful of months before he stood over their corpses. Then it was on to the next team. Then the next. He’d unfortunately been _just_ skilled enough to continue getting shuffled around on teams and sent right back out to die. He never did. 

Like a cockroach, he just kept coming back with body scrolls and more blood on his hands.

(He’s sure he still has his genin team photo somewhere. It’ll be faded with age by now, perhaps yellowed at the corners. Or maybe not, as it’s gone without sun exposure for so long. He remembers shoving it into a box years and years ago, unable to look at the smiling faces of dead eight year olds.)

All of them, every genin team he’d been a part of, their names were carved into the KIA stone. He’s never gone there on his own time, only to collect Kakashi. Looking at the stone makes him ill. It’s a visceral, thunderous feeling. It shakes his teeth and makes his throat clench and tighten. He doesn’t know how Kakashi can stand there for hours, lost in his PTSD-addled thoughts as the time passes, sun rising and setting without his notice. 

So many of those names belong to children. The youngest being somewhere around five. Hundreds of graves just for those who never reached eighteen. Konoha, the village founded on the dream of creating a world where children didn’t fight and die needlessly in war, had forsaken itself. Shodaime-sama’s vision had crumpled like a wet sheet, poisoned and polluted by his own brother, and then that very brother’s student. Toshiro continues to hold some measure of respect for the first, second and third Hokages, but he is not clouded by mindless devotion and loyalty to the Military State they’ve built. Children were once again sent out to fight younger and younger, the cycle beginning again. 

It’s as if everything Konoha had been intended for was forgotten. _Within only decades._ The shinobi world that Senju Hashirama created never once saw the peace he prided himself on. The peace _Konoha_ prided itself on. Toshiro knew very well that the propaganda was all lies and brainwashing when he’d been eight and watched his teammate get split in half, her tiny, thin child arms too weak to block the full strength of an adult with a blade.

(He’d gotten his revenge; jammed a broken shuriken into the man’s femoral artery again and again and again, because it was the only place he could reach.)

But that hopeless dream is no longer hopeless. Toshiro has faith that Itachi will bring about the Konoha the forefathers intended. Perhaps even a better version of that initial aspiration. How funny, that it’s an Uchiha who will bring about the best of a Village saturated in Senju remnants and pride.

Lee is the next to step into the field, his voice carrying with ease. He’s loud, green and boisterous, just like his sensei. From the stands, Toshiro can see Lee’s megawatt grin and gleaming bowlcut. He’s almost convinced that the kid is _actually_ Gai’s son. 

“Ah!” Touma exclaims, wiggling in his seat. “It’s Gaara-san!”

Sure enough, the Suna boy emerges on the field in a cloud of swirling sand, the grains glimmering gold in the sun. It’s beautiful, actually. Dangerous, too. Gaara’s expression remains placid, tinged with the barest hint of bloodthirst. There’s something unsettling about how still he holds himself, unwavering like a statue. There isn’t much of a breeze, so the world goes hot and still and silent for a moment, the crowd holding their breaths in anticipation.

The fight starts.

Toshiro leans forward in his seat, amazed at the speed of Gai’s kid. Lee is a blur of green, barely a movement wasted. He’s clearly well on his way to following in Gai’s footsteps. Sand lashes out with every kick and punch Lee lands on the protective dome Gaara has created. They seem to be at a stalemate, however, as Gaara’s impeccable defense still manages to catch almost all of Lee’s attacks. 

“Lee! You can do it!” Gai’s voice is heard clearly, even across the stadium. “I’m allowing it—release your weights!”

“Weights?” Naruto repeats. “What’s that gonna do?”

Lee throws his sensei a vibrant thumbs up, twirling through the air with the grace of a dancer. He takes a moment to remove the weights tucked under his leg warmers, tossing them to the side without thought. They hit the dirt with an explosive sound, dust and chunks of rock flying in every direction. When the air clears, the weights sit innocently in a crater, the very earth cracked below them. 

The stunned silence is quickly swallowed by exhilarated cheers. Toshiro sees Gaara’s two teammates across the stadium, their mouths agape. 

Most of the Konoha genin leap to their feet, caught up in the buzz. Shikamaru smacks his head on the seat when Naruto jumps up, and Shino is vigorously shaken by Asuhi, who’s grabbed the poor boy’s shoulders in her excitement. From there, the fight takes a turn. Lee gets impossibly faster, zooming through the air like a shiny green dart. 

Gaara’s sand is unable to keep up, and the boy looks awkward at having to attempt physical defense. _Far too reliant on that sand of his._ Within moments, the sand is blasted to the side and doesn't recover fast enough for the next hit. Lee smashes his foot across Gaara’s face, and the smaller boy is thrown back into his own sand. 

Immediately, the air grows sharp and heavy, the scent of iron rising like a cloud. Before him, Toshiro can see the Hatake kids and Kiba tense, and Naruto has fixed his gaze on Gaara’s writhing, screaming form.

“You made me bleed!” Gaara howls, voice cracked and dry. “My blood! Mother, it’s my blood!”

The hair on the back of Toshiro’s neck rises. A sense of wrongness consumes him, trickles down his spine and prickles his skin with goosebumps. He turns to Hoshika and opens his mouth to speak. There’s something wrong here—

Many things happen at once. Sand explodes from Gaara’s form, and feathers fall from the sky. Civilians begin to slump in their seats as killing intent cuts through the air like it’s something tangible. Toshiro pulses his chakra and dispels the attempted genjutsu. The feathers disappear, and several of the kids jerk awake. 

Groups of ninja decked out in the same gray garbs and hitai-ate with the Oto symbol appear around the stadium, infiltrating the crowd and attacking the closest shinobi. They’re joined by Suna and Kusa nin, their targets indiscriminate.

Toshiro leaps to his feet, anxiety jolting through him. Hoshika is at his side, a hand on her stomach and her face pinched. Battles break out on all sides. He lets a kunai fly into the eye socket of a Kusa nin attempting to slit the throats of unconscious civilians. “We need to leave.”

“No shit.” Hoshika hisses through clenched teeth. 

“Kids!” He barks, “Group up. Defend. Asuhi, Takehiko, Touma and Haruki, stick close to me and Hoshika.”

The genin surge into action, separating by teams. As reluctant as he is to send twelve year olds into battle against adult shinobi, they have no other option. Right now, it’s do or die. Below, in the dust, stands a half-transformed Gaara and a grinning Shisui, his sharingan spinning. The red-haired boy is frozen, yellow-tinged eyes glazed with the look of someone under a deep genjutsu. 

Toshiro flings chakra strands out from his fingertips, ninja wire spinning into the air. An Oto shinobi dashes into view, his eyes dark and intent and all that is seen of his face—Toshiro hears Asuhi gasp in terror behind him. 

“Close your eyes.” He says, and surges forward, arms weaving through the air in a series of fluid movements. The chakra strings and ninja wire lash out, manipulated by his careful chakra control and almost invisible to naked eye. The Oto nin is quick, but he’s no Hatake Kakashi. The very same Hatake Kakashi who’s been running Toshiro into the ground with his ANBU level training. Toshiro doesn’t pretend to think he’s even close to reaching the man’s level, but he’s far better than he would be on his own.

Good enough to take down a jounin.

The Oto nin falls apart like building blocks, blood spraying in wide arcs. He hears screaming start up as civilians wake, and the bleachers become a mess of panic and blood and the clashing of steel. He deflects a series of kunai and engages in a brief taijutsu battle, his invisible cloud hovering menacingly, waiting for an opening. He manages to get Hoshika and the younger kids to the top of the staircase, gouging deep furrows into enemy combatants and drawing blood with single-minded tenacity. 

“Out, out, out.” He chants, guiding the kids to the stairs, fruitlessly attempting to keep them all together in the rush of the terrified crowd.

“No, I don’t think you’re all getting out.” A voice drawls, clinical and matter-of-fact. 

Alarm bells ring in Toshiro’s ears. The voice sounds masculine, and familiar. But he can’t place it. The figure it belongs to is clad in a long cloak and an ANBU mask, though they’re clearly not ANBU. They stand in the middle of a group of Oto nin, for one. 

Toshiro positions himself between the new enemies and the five under his protection. He senses more than sees Hoshika get into position just behind him, ready to activate her clan’s signature jutsu when the opportunity arises. That won’t do. She’s pregnant, and the four kids behind them are still just Academy students. The stands are filled with them—shinobi hopefuls and young children, ages six and up. Itachi thought it would be helpful for them to witness true combat scenarios without the threat of death. 

It isn’t exactly going according to plan.

The leader dashes forward with alarming speed. Toshiro meets him head on, wires slashing through the air. They cut into the cloak and draw blood from the man’s arms, crimson splattering against the dusty stone. It doesn’t slow the fake ANBU down at all. In fact, green lights up around his hands, and he heals his forearms within seconds, all while kicking out.

Toshiro drops down to avoid the kick and spins, sending out a kick of his own while low to the ground. The fake ANBU jumps back to avoid it, so Toshiro follows through by pushing off with his other foot. He turns the first kick into a knee to the face, then has to dodge the swipe of a chakra coated hand. It hums through the air dangerously. 

_Chakra scalpel._

So it’s healer versus healer. Toshiro smiles grimly. _This is bad._ He doesn’t have time to waste with this guy, not when there’s a whole group surging towards Hoshika and the youngest Hatakes. 

“Don’t lose focus,” The man says, almost sounding reprimanding. “You’re dealing with me.” 

Toshiro meets the man in a clash of steel, sparks dancing through the air. He attaches chakra strings to the man’s limbs, only for most of them to get cut off immediately by chakra-heavy hands. Before the last of them can be cut, he clenches his hand and _jerks_ —twisting Fake-ANBU’s arm to alarming levels until it cracks. 

The man doesn’t even flinch. He snaps his arm back into place with an admirable kind of ease. Toshiro grits his teeth and surges forward again. It’s impossible to distinguish what’s happening around him with so much of his focus on the Fake-ANBU. He can’t tell if the sounds of close fighting are just another group, or Hoshika and the kids holding their own against those Oto nin. 

(He knows exactly which it is, he just doesn’t want to think about it.)

The day is hot, even in the shade of the stadium awning, it’s only worsened by the fighting and stress. Sweat beads, ticklish and distracting, on his scalp; sliding from his hairline down to his jaw, down the back of his neck, down every knob of his spine. His teeth rattle with the force of every collision, the power behind the Fake-ANBU’s strikes heavy and precise. Methodical. Toshiro is not a big man. He’s below average in height, and muscle sits lean on his bones. He’s always been rather delicate in frame, taking after his mother in that department—speed and stealth are his best friends. He survived the war by playing dirty, slitting throats from behind or attacking blind spots. There was no _playing fair_ when your life was on the line; when you were all of eight years old and made of toothpicks and glass. 

Toshiro learned a lot from war. From doing the worst of the worst just to breathe another iron-heavy breath, just to taste the rot and decay of death on his tongue. Blood doesn’t come out easily. It stains the skin, seeps into every crevice and wrinkle in the flesh, imbeds itself into your nail beds and remains there for days. He remembers being nine and so out of his mind with grief and terror that he stabbed and stabbed and stabbed until his clothes were sopping with the crimson ichor of his enemy, snot streaming down his chin as he screamed and mutilated a fresh corpse. _I’m alive, I’m alive, I’m alive._

He headbutts the Fake-ANBU and knees him in the balls. _I survived. I survived. I survived._ A chakra scalpel brushes his shoulder and severs his deltoid. Pain blossoms almost immediately, blood pooling under the skin. He grits his teeth through the pain and with a downward swing of his elbow he shatters the other man’s wrist, with the other arm he lashes out with ninja wire and gouges into the vulnerable flesh that all ninja leave wide open. The toes.

Finally, the Fake-ANBU makes a sound—whether it be of annoyance or pain, Toshiro can’t tell. His big toe is separated, blood pooling around his sandal and compromising his movement. The man’s fist cracks against Toshiro’s hip, sending him back a few feet. Sharp pain flares from the area, and Toshiro feels wetness trail down his thigh.

Palm lighting up green, Toshiro presses a hand to the injury. His other arm is starting to feel numb. He eyes the Fake-ANBU carefully. Both of them have racked up a few good hits, and the fight has probably lasted only a few minutes. It feels like forever.

“You’re better than I thought, sensei.” The man says, humor lacing his tone. He drawls the honorific like it’s a joke. “I guess bending over for Hatake has its merits.”

Rage curdles in Toshiro’s chest. He lets none of it show on his face, keeping his eyes on the man’s hands. It’s true that he’s yet to hear someone speak so shamelessly about his relationship with Kakashi to his face—but he’s no stranger to homophobic or rude comments being slung at him. Not after the last world he’d lived in.

“Not interested in small talk? Should have known. You’re always so levelheaded and crafty.” The man continues. “I really admire that about you, actually.”

The words make something in Toshiro twist in discomfort—different from just a moment ago. It’s as if... _no._ But the thought is only gaining steam, refusing to be ignored. _Could it be...I know this person? Or have they been watching me?_ The idea of a traitor isn’t impossible or even surprising, not after the Danzo fiasco. But it’s unsettling.

“I’m afraid our time is up. I can’t play with you anymore, sensei. It was a pleasure—I do hope we meet again.”

Toshiro lunges, chakra strings lurching through the air. But the man only dances away, shunshining far out of reach. _Gotta follow him, gotta follow him_ —

“NII-SAN!” 

He freezes at the scream, ice flooding his veins. In an instant, he forgets all about following the Fake-ANBU. Back by the top of the stairs—and how’d he get drawn so far away?—a glimmering barrier is erected, golden chains reinforcing the corners. Asuhi sobs from within, blood sliding down her cheek. At her feet, Haruki is limp and facedown.

Touma, Takehiko and Hoshika are nowhere to be seen.

The sounds of fighting have halted, but he pays no attention to whatever hollow victory Konoha has achieved. White noise fills Toshiro’s ears. He hovers a palm over the chakra chain barrier. “Asuhi. Let it down.”

She gulps in air, clearly disoriented and scared. But at his voice, her murky green eyes move to his face and her relief is palpable. The barrier fades as the chains sink back into her body. Toshiro moves forward immediately. Asuhi sags into his arms, and he has to maneuver one around her to press a hand to Haruki’s still form. 

Blood pools beneath the boy’s body, tacky and dark red. Toshiro feels his stomach swoop and has to—turn his brain off. His hand lights up with the diagnostic jutsu. Haruki’s golden hair is darkened with sweat, but not blood, thankfully. It’s all coming from a deep gouge across his chest. The poor boy—he’s already got a deep scar across his face and half an ear missing, now there’s going to be another added to his collection and he’s still a few months shy of twelve.

But.

_ He’ll live. _

Haruki’s black shirt is soaked with his own blood and torn across the front, so Toshiro sees the tanned skin close up under his careful healing. Asuhi cries softly against his shoulder, burying her face in his neck so she doesn’t see her older brother’s flesh repair itself. Her tears dampen the collar of his shirt and mix with his own sweat and blood. 

Feet thump beside him. “Oh, Sage.”

It’s only because he recognizes the voice that he doesn’t immediately swing his hand around and take out the new person’s kneecaps.

Shisui presses a hand to his shoulder, then releases it immediately when Toshiro makes a sound of pain. It’s his torn one—he hadn’t been able to heal the damage from the chakra scalpel. “Oh, Haru.” Shisui whispers quietly, leaning down and brushing his hand through the eleven year old’s sweaty bangs. His spinning gaze shifts to Toshiro. “...Where’s Hoshika?”

Toshiro doesn’t reply. Can’t. His head is still buzzing.

“Toshiro?”

Asuhi sobs anew, her hands holding him tighter and aggravating his wounds. He doesn’t wince, doesn’t move until all of Haruki’s wound seals up.

“They took her!” Asuhi warbles, pulling her tear-streaked face from Toshiro’s neck. “They took her and Touma and Takehiko! M-My barrier wasn’t fast enough—” Her voice breaks, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

Shisui exhales. 

(Toshiro has never been afraid of his best friend.)

“Asuhi-chan,” The Uchiha says, “I’m going to ask you a favor.”

Toshiro cuts his gaze over to Shisui, feeling slowly coming back into his body. He still feels odd. Emotions detached—in med-nin mode. (You save the masses. As many as you can. You forget lost causes. There’s only so much chakra in a healer’s body. Use it wisely.)

“I need you to summon Akaya. I know you’re not a shinobi, but you’re a Hatake. And what do Hatake do best?”

Asuhi sniffs and meets Shisui’s scarlet gaze. She wipes snot and blood from her nose and scrunches her face to stop crying. Her murky eyes gleam with determination and familiar Uzumaki fire, “We track.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who had Kidnapping for Angst Bingo :,)  
> [tumblr!](https://spideyfoof.tumblr.com/)


	28. wisteria

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha this took a while,,,, im back at college tho! here's my [tumblr](https://spideyfoof.tumblr.com/) if u want to check out some fic art/notes/questions! Also I can’t believe it but I actually forgot about lil Takehiko. Changed the last chapter only a little to show that he was kidnapped too! 
> 
> So currently Hoshika, Touma and Takehiko are kidnapped rip

He’s never told Toshiro that he loves him.

To be fair, Kakashi hasn’t spoken of love in years—decades, even. There’s the patriotic love for the village, but it feels more like monotonous duty most days. It leaves scars and ingrained exhaustion. It carves out whole swaths of him, leaving him empty and without identity. A wooden puppet for Konoha, to do with what they wished. Finding himself is the hardest mission he’s ever taken.

Love is associated with pain, with loss and hearts in his palms and empty graves and jars of ashes because leaving bodies is too risky. Love is a gamble. It’s terror and euphoria, his lungs squeezed of air and his blood roaring in his ears like the crash of a waterfall. He never understood what the saying ‘ _butterflies in your stomach_ ’ meant until Toshiro. It doesn’t really feel like butterflies—it’s more like a thousand massive birds flapping their wings all at once, creating a hurricane in his solar plexus. 

They’ve been ‘seeing each other’ or  _ dating _ for a few months now. They’ve kissed and groped and fucked. But not once have either of them uttered words of love, relying on action to explain the coil of emotion connecting them. The words haven’t really crossed his mind either, because he’s content to pretend they don’t exist. He can live without them. He can live without airing them into the open like dirty laundry. Maybe it’ll be uncomfortable, maybe it’ll hurt. Maybe he’ll feel it lurking on his tongue or in his heart or at the forefront of his brain, rattling his teeth in an effort to be spit out. 

Maybe one day he’ll say it. The worst thing in the world would be to end up  _ too late _ to his own confession. At any moment one of them could die. Kakashi is still keeping secrets that will one day turn into regrets to weigh on his consciousness and disrupt his sleep.

When the genjutsu settles over the arena, it drives an ice pick through his heart. The village is supposed to be the one place Toshiro can be safe, and now it’s a warzone. The heat of summer on his back and the tang of iron condensing like a fog—the scent of blood, familiar—it takes him to memories he wishes he wouldn’t dwell on. 

It’s home.

An explosion rocks the Hokage’s box, but Itachi is already out and running to meet the attack of what looks to be Orochimaru. It’s brazen, attacking like this. Orochimaru can’t be desperate enough to think he can survive a full-scale invasion with powerful shinobi like Itachi and Hiruzen around, can he? 

Kakashi observes Shisui placing a genjutsu on Suna’s jinchuuriki, then leaps into the fray. The stands are packed with shinobi from Suna, Oto and Kusa, all of them moving with murderous intent. Some attack innocent, unconscious civilians, while most enter combat with Konoha nin. 

This is his playground. The heat of battle, the glint of steel and tingle of lightning dancing down his scarred palms. The scent of blood is so prominent he can taste it. It coats his tongue and slips down the back of his throat. To Kakashi, the fight is his home away from home. As tired and run down and hollow it all makes him feel in the end, there’s nothing quite like the way his heart sings and roars when it’s him against another. 

He’d been a child who felled men three times his size. That first kill made him sick, had soured his stomach and haunted his dreams. But another part of him felt fine. Proud, even. Because Kakashi is both man and wolf, and he makes a living out of plucking flesh from bones. Even as a child he’d felt the call, the terrible pull of the  _ hunt. _ The joys of matching prey blow for blow and coming out the winner. Konoha is his territory. Toshiro and the kids are his pack. They belong to him and he to them, and  _ no one could take that away. _

Kakashi can’t bring himself to say  _ I love you, _ but he’ll show it. He’ll tear out throats with his teeth or slaughter a hundred men and women. He won’t pretend he’s kind or  _ just.  _ He’s an assassin, a murderer, and he’s good at his job and he  _ likes his job. _

“Sensei!” A blur of orange slams into the side of an enemy nin, a clever elbow sunk deep into a heaving gut. The nin tumbles down the stairs and gets their throat cut by the deft throw of passing nin’s kunai. Naruto waves his hands at Kakashi, and the other two members of Team 7 thud into place at his side. 

“We’re here to help, sensei.” Despite the tremble to her lips, Sakura stands firm.

The world around them is in chaos. The air is filled with the terrible stench of fear and death, it rings with the screams of half-awake civilians trampling each other in their efforts to flee the stands. There’s a sealing barrier behind him where Itachi is locked in combat and Shisui hasn’t yet left the field. Kakashi has to compartmentalize. His team may be genin, but they’re capable. Sakura is brilliant, tenacious and swiftly becoming more experienced in medical ninjutsu. Shikamaru could pick apart any problem in less than five seconds and probably solve world hunger if he had a coffee and copious amounts of sugar. Then there’s Naruto, the number one knucklehead ninja—who came up with the most spontaneous, unpredictable ideas that never felt like they  _ should _ work, yet they always somehow  _ did. _

He’s also the only person with a deeper than entry level knowledge of fuuinjutsu around at the moment.

“Do you see that barrier?” It’s a rhetorical question, as it’s kind of hard to miss. Kakashi curves his eye into a crescent, sharp teeth hidden. “I need you to break it.”

Naruto grins widely, mischief in every foxy curve and line of his face. “Oh? You got it, Kaka-sensei!”

A wobble, the scent of fear and nerves. A flash of red. Kakashi meets scarlet eyes.

“I can h-help.” The girl says, her features round and meek, glasses perched upon her nose. There’s a Kusa hitai-ate on her forehead. Her skin is three shades paler, her eyes a bloody red to match equally carmine hair—but he knows immediately what she is.

Not a threat, for one.

“Can you really?” He asks quietly. 

She looks a little like Naruto. But that’s to be expected. He does have his mother’s face, after all.

“Of course I can,” she says, a hint of steel among fragile flower stems. “I’m an Uzumaki.”

Naruto is in her face immediately, and standing so close together they definitely look more related than anticipated. It’s enough to make Shikamaru’s eyes narrow in contemplation and Sakura let out a quiet gasp.

“Your village is attacking ours, ya know!” Naruto exclaims. “Even if you’re my cousin, that’s kinda rude!”

The girl shakes her head, “I know that! But it’s not like I can just tell them  _ no _ when they order us all to attack! I don’t want to, I don’t even like Kusa—” She sucks in a breath, “I’m going to break that barrier for you and then you’ll have to let me into Konoha—wait, what did you say?”

“You want refuge as an Uzumaki survivor.” Shikamaru guesses, speaking over Naruto’s babbling. 

She nods. Naruto rocks back on his heels and observes her with squinted eyes.

“What’s your name?” Kakashi asks, feeling more and more tense with every second he remains stationary.

“Uzumaki Karin.”

“Uzumaki Naruto, ya know!” The blond jams a thumb to his chest, puffed with pride. “We’re totally gonna save the day, just you wait!”

“Right,” Kakashi snaps his fingers to get their attention. “Two Uzumaki are better than one. If you’re going to do this, I need you four at your best. Karin, if you really want to stay in Konoha, take that hitai-ate off before one of our allies comes for blood. Shikamaru, Sakura, you’re two of the best minds in your entire generation. The four of you together should be able to take down that barrier,  _ I know it.” _

Team 7 stands to attention for a moment, all giving him their best serious looks. It doesn’t suit their childish faces. Something in Kakashi’s gut sinks a little. He wonders if this is how Toshiro feels all the time. He wonders why he never really saw anything wrong before now. Letting these kids out into the world—letting  _ his _ kids, his siblings, his teammates, his students—it’s terrifying. Confusing.

_ Can’t afford to think like this right now. _

“Go.” He orders, disappearing in the same instant. Back into the battle he goes, leaving a trail of corpses. It’s not that he relishes in killing, though it comes as easily as breathing. Death is simple.  _ So simple. _ You never really think about how little it takes to end a life—there’s always that perception that’s hard, but human bodies are so fragile. They break from bad falls, short trips or a single cut in the right place. 

Toshiro hates killing, but he’ll do it. Without regret, even. Maybe he’ll hate that it couldn’t be ended in another way, but he doesn’t feel  _ bad _ about making the decision to protect. Kakashi thinks he understands that. Now that he’s older, he’s so  _ tired  _ of death. It gets harder and harder to ignore the fact that all these bags of flesh are  _ people _ . His entire life had been a depressing monotony of both murdering and escaping murder—he wants to live now. He wants to take a different path, one of words rather than fists. He wants to come home and wrap himself around the love of his life until they die of old age—which is another radical thought, as Kakashi has always anticipated dying on the battlefield. Shinobi don’t live long. But damn, does he want that to change. 

With Itachi that might actually happen, so there’s no fucking way Kakashi is letting the teen die.

How funny. Kakashi wants to live.

* * *

(Ink explodes across a sheer purple barrier, buzzing with chakra and shifting fluidly into a line of fuuin particles. Naruto’s cackling laughter rings loud and clear across the arena, golden chains shooting from the little red-haired girl beside him. They pierce the barrier and intertwine with the ink, glimmering gold and obsidian. A pull, a  _ creak. _ The barrier shatters into a cloud of disintegrating shards. 

Shikamaru’s shadow latches onto the one figure by the corner they’d situated themselves. ANBU Units swarm the area. Sakura screeches as the reanimated form of what looks to be the Nidaime Hokage flies past her.

“Watch where you aim you—Uh,” Sakura coughs, “Hokage-sama.”

Itachi offers her the barest hint of a smile, which in Uchiha is basically a huge grin. “Sorry, Sakura-san. I hit him harder than anticipated.”)

* * *

“We tracked him to the northwest border, but he split off in different directions.” Shisui slams his palm on the desk, eyes blazing. “He could be anywhere from Kusa to Yu. Akaya determined three separate scent trails. He couldn’t distinguish which one was real.”

While Konoha is a disaster outside, the recovery efforts have already begun. There’s incredible amounts of work to be done, but at least the hospital is equipped to handle the influx of injuries. Able-bodied shinobi with medical experience flooded the streets to help those in need. Sakura, Sasuke and Kojika are sharing a district, wandering the streets and patching up civilians. The other kids are relatively unharmed and helping with the rebuilding effort. Clearing rubble is the biggest issue on the streets right now, as boring as it is.

Huddled away in the Hokage tower are Itachi, Shisui, Shikaku, Fugaku, Kakashi and Toshiro. 

“We need a recovery team immediately.” Fugaku mutters, leaning against the far wall to take pressure off his prosthetic. “Hatake, your dogs are more skilled than your sister’s.”

Kakashi hums, “You’re not wrong. That doesn’t mean they’ll find anything different. Skilled tracker or not, this is Orochimaru we’re talking about.”

Toshiro focuses on breathing. He doesn’t want to think about how Asuhi is probably still crying her eyes out with Mikoto and Yoshino. He doesn’t want to think about exactly what might be happening to Touma, Takehiko and Hoshika—or her unborn baby. She’s not exceptionally far along, either. Anything could happen. The stress could cause a miscarriage. The worst part is, he can’t tell if a miscarriage  _ would be the worst thing, _ not when Orochimaru is involved. Toshiro has spent too long reading that twisted man’s notes to even want to  _ consider _ what he could possibly get up to with a fetus. 

And he can’t imagine what Shisui is feeling. Because while those are Toshiro’s little brothers, while that is Toshiro’s best friend—a lover and a child is something else. A different kind of pain. Equally intense, but a strain all its own that Toshiro doesn’t want to experience. He glances at Kakashi, who appears exhausted and determined. The man is slouching, but there’s a look of murder in his eye that’s barely kept hidden. He’s razor wire, pulled taut and ready to snap, to lash out and gouge deep furrows—deep enough to leave scars. Reminders. Kakashi’s fingers are still and motionless by his side, his gloves stained with blood.

“The Aburame will likely offer their services. A team with one of them would benefit the cause.” Shikaku muses. Something monstrous lingers just below the surface. “Hyuuga, Inuzuka, Hatake—we’re not short on trackers to choose from.”

“Hate to say it, but tracking him is probably the easy part.” Kakashi’s voice is flat. 

“That may be true, but we need to locate his base of operations before we can mount a rescue attempt.” The Godaime steeples his fingers and sits back in his chair. “I want Shibi to lead Team Tsushika.”

Shikaku and Toshiro share a glance. 

Fugaku frowns at his son, “You don’t think Chiasa-kun will act recklessly? Those are her little brothers. There’s no way she’s the best addition to a team like this...”

Itachi looks each one of them in the eye, “I think Chiasa is exactly what’s needed. If anyone can be both level-headed and persistent in a situation like this, it’s her. Team Tsushika is very easily pre-ANBU, and specialize in tracking and tactics. With Shibi’s guidance, they’re perfectly suited for a mission like this.”

“I want to go.” Hands clenched so tightly they’ve gone bloodless, Shisui meets Itachi’s gaze with red tinging the black abyss of his eyes. “I need to be on that team.”

“No,” Itachi shakes his head subtly, “You don’t. Your determination is understandable, but we need a team of the best trackers, and in your state there’s no guarantee that you won’t immediately seek to infiltrate Orochimaru’s lair upon its discovery.”

Shisui’s curls shake with the bobbing of his head, “Itachi—”

“We need subtlety.” The Godaime interrupts. “An emotional Uchiha is not subtle. If anything, Orochimaru will be expecting you. Regretfully, the man is no idiot.”

Shisui’s expression breaks, vulnerability spilling across his features. “I can’t lose her. I can’t. I don’t know what I’ll do.”

_ You don’t want to know what I’ll do. _ It’s left unsaid, but Toshiro hears it loud and clear.

He presses into Shisui’s space and curls their hands together. “We’re going to get her back. We’re going to get all of them back.” His wounds are all but healed, but there’s nothing to be done about the pain in his chest. Three (and a half) of his loved ones could be suffering right now. 

Shisui grips his hands back, teeth clenched so tightly they creak with the strain. He breathes out harshly through his nose. Determination and mania gleam in his flashing eyes.

“What of the Uzumaki girl?” Kakashi asks quietly.

“She’s in T&I. If she passes, she’ll be on probation for a bit. Considering the state of Naruto-san’s apartment, I’m thinking of establishing a small Clan Compound for them and any other Uzumaki who turn up.” Itachi glances between Kakashi and Toshiro, “Though I imagine she’ll spend most of her time in the Hatake Compound like her cousin.”

Kakashi sighs a bit, “Yeah, I thought so.”

Despite the change in subject, very little humor penetrates the somber atmosphere. “Father, can you inform Shibi of his duties? Tell him to leave immediately and intercept Team Tsushika on their return. By now they should be approaching Konoha, so locating them shouldn’t be difficult.”

Fugaku nods at his dismissal, casts a final glance at Shisui, then leaves. 

“Shikaku-san, please set up a meeting about the current security. It seems we’re due for some upgrades...and I want you to include Uzumaki Naruto on the roster.” 

Everyone in the room starts a bit at the declaration, and the grim set to Shikaku’s mouth curls into something wicked. “You got it.”

That means Kakashi isn’t going anywhere. As a Clan Head, he’s going to be pulled into the meeting to deal with the Council and all the legal action that’ll need to be taken. There’s prisoners to deal with, bodies to dispose of and a security system to repair. 

Toshiro sighs and squeezes Shisui’s hands one more time before letting go. “That’s my cue to get back to the hospital. You should find Gai and join the construction efforts. It won’t make you feel better, but doing something productive might settle your nerves.”

“Yeah,” the Uchiha responds robotically. 

Toshiro isn’t sure the other man really heard him at all. Too much tension thrums in the man’s taller body. The Uchiha are likened to fire, for both their passion and chakra natures. Shisui has never felt more like a bomb than in this moment, the fiery wrath roiling just below the surface. He’s a bottled explosive. A can of soda that’s been shaken, pressurized and ready to burst. Shisui will gut Orochimaru or die trying, and Toshiro can’t even fault him.

He exchanges a look with Itachi, and sees the concern he feels mirrored in the faint creases of the younger man’s face. 

* * *

Asuhi cries herself to sleep that night. Naruto tries to quiet her with the news of their cousin, but she’s inconsolable until she conks out. It seems like every kid ends up piled in one room that night. Crawling over each other and clinging to sleep shirts like they’re scared to let go. This brush with death has left them with new scars, invisible ones. Scars that will etch into their brains and haunt their nights. 

Spilling blood is easy. 

Dead bodies are messy.

Toshiro works long hours that night and comes home to a dark house, with too many kids in one room yet somehow not enough, as two are missing. They cover the floor and spill off the bed, but he has no desire to wake them. They look peaceful, or as peaceful as one can be after a traumatizing day like today. All of them had worked so hard, especially during the initial crush. Guarding civilians, academy students, each other—they’d saved lives today, all of them. He’s sad, but also proud of them.

As exhausted as he is, he still manages to strip out of his dirty, bloody clothes and hop into the shower. The warm water over his aching muscles is heavenly, and he sighs underneath the hot spray. The sound echoes around the bathroom, hidden among the pattering of falling water. He’s just stepping out when he hears the bathroom door open. Kakashi pokes his head in, silver hair looking a little droopier than usual. 

There’s a damp sheen to it that tells Toshiro the other man’s hair is still drying. He’d probably taken his own shower an hour before Toshiro even got home—it always takes forever for the Hatake’s hair to dry, with how thick it is. His hitai-ate is gone and he’s wearing a loose black shirt and sweats. The sharingan is kept carefully closed, so it’s only one steel-dark eye that peers over Toshiro’s wet, naked form.

A flicker of interest passes over Kakashi’s face, but it fades shortly after. The day’s events have left a cloud of depression over everyone. He steps fully into the bathroom and shuts the door behind him. With no risk of being spied on, the mask is dragged under his chin and his handsome features are exposed to the damp, muggy air.

Toshiro pulls on a pair of cottony shorts and sits down on the toilet seat to try and hide the way he’s trembling. His soaked hair sticks to his skin and sends droplets spiraling down his freckled flesh. The towel hangs limply in his hand, gripped tight enough that the veins of his knuckles bulge. He feels such an indescribable rage that starts from the crown of his head and makes its way down, like a hot flash. 

Anger at his own lack of power, anger at the world he’s found himself in, anger at Orochimaru. A little bit of anger at the decision to even make friends in the first place. Then again, he’s much better now  _ with them. _ They’ve become his family, his everything. Back when he held everyone at arm's length, he’d been inexplicably lonely. People like Inoka, like Shikaku, like Shisui and Hoshika and Itachi—they’ve become his rocks, changing the surging currents of the river that made up his life. 

They’ve been doing so well, too. Konoha was going to be better, was  _ getting better. _ He wanted to be past the murder and lies and loss—but perhaps that had been too much to ask for in a world like this. There were more countries than just Hi no Kuni. More people on this planet than Toshiro could ever meet. All of them are broken in some way. The Elemental Nations had never known true peace. It wouldn’t do to forget that. He’d let himself grow lax in thinking that things were getting better. They were, but not enough to let his guard down. Which he’d done, foolishly.

_ I thought we were safe here. _ In the village that had never truly been safe.

Kakashi crouches before him, taking the towel from his clenched hands. He lets it go without protest, and they sit quietly as Kakashi dries Toshiro’s ash-blond locks. 

“It’s not your fault.” The older man whispers, his sultry timber echoing in the small space. 

Toshiro exhales in wry, mocking humor. “Doesn’t exactly make me stop feeling like it is.”

Kakashi tosses the towel over the curtain rod to dry. “Yeah,” he mutters awkwardly, then kisses Toshiro soundly on the mouth.

He indulges for a second, then pulls away. “I don’t want to do anything tonight, Kakashi.”

“I know,” the man says, “I know, I was just.” He holds himself still, one hand clenching and unclenching as he tries to find the words. 

_ Ah, _ Toshiro thinks to himself.  _ That’s probably it, isn’t? He doesn’t know what words to use. _

“It’s not bad, as far as comforting gestures go.” He decides to cut the man some slack. “I don’t need pretty words or assurances, Kakashi. I just need you to be there.”

“Until my last breath.”

Toshiro leans forward and all but collapses into Kakashi’s arms. Corded muscle and soft cotton press against his shower-warm skin. Scarred hands card through his hair with all the grace of someone who’s never done such an intimate action before. Kakashi holds his wrists too stiffly. It brings a slight smile to Toshiro’s face, which he presses into Kakashi’s neck, along with a kiss. It’s not heated—just soft. Thankful.

“We’re going to get all of them back.” Kakashi echoes Toshiro’s earlier words to Shisui. “No matter what, we’re going to get all of them back.”

“I know.” Toshiro whispers back, presses the words into Kakashi’s skin.  _ I hope, _ he doesn’t say.

“You can cuddle me if it’ll make you feel better.”

Toshiro snorts, “You know, it just might.”

When they curl into bed, Toshiro wraps himself around Kakashi from behind. He presses his nose between the taller man’s shoulder blades and inhales the scent of timber and ozone. The contrast of the night air and the heat of Kakashi’s body gives rise to goosebumps along his arms. His toes come in line at the back of Kakashi’s ankles, and not once does the older man complain about their difference in temperature.

* * *

Aside from the kidnapping, the other big issue concerns Kusa and Suna. As far as Toshiro knows, Oto as a whole is being shoved firmly in the  _ Orochimaru _ category. Kusa is being dealt with on the political playing field, as they’ve continually lost shinobi and resources since the second war. At this point, they’re on their last legs and lashing out like a rabid, dying animal. That aside, Kusa is still by no means weak, they’d lasted this long between major shinobi countries without being squashed—and the best way to fight them was through diplomacy. 

According to Itachi, the influx of money to Konoha had drained Kusa significantly. Enough to make them join Suna and Oto in a calculated move. If Konoha was weakened, then money and missions would disperse to the other lands. Throw in a new, young Hokage and they thought they had it in the bag. 

Toshiro spends the next few days working at the hospital until he’s drained and dead on his feet. After, when he lays in bed feeling like a bruise, he can’t bring himself to sleep. Not soundly, or even through the night. He’s woken by his own awful thoughts, the stress manifesting itself into night terrors that leave deep circles under his eyes. Some nights he can’t even bring himself to touch Kakashi

He’ll lock himself in his own room or, if he just wants to have Kakashi’s presence, curl at the other side of the bed with his back to the man. Kakashi never tries to touch him then. Toshiro is thankful for that—because on those nights it’s like his skin is a million tiny needles, oversensitized to the point of pain. 

It really is the waiting that’s the worst part. 

There are teams looking—more than just Shibi and Team Tsushika now—but genin can’t go, and Toshiro’s position doesn’t let him take missions like those out of the village. They have to wait and trust in the village, and in the shinobi that Itachi sends out. It’s absolutely awful. It’s taking more time than anticipated to locate Orochimaru’s base, and they have to jump through political hoops by contacting the smaller countries and getting permission to search the lands. Not all of them are forthcoming in allowing scouting shinobi into their lands to potentially  _ spy _ .

He barely has time to comfort Shisui.

Luckily, he doesn’t exactly have to. That team of Shisui’s goes the extra mile. Kojika, Chouji and Shino really pulled together to support their Sensei, from bringing him meals to distracting him to helping him plot murder.

Then there’s Karin.

She’s covered in scars, teeth marks lining her arms, shoulders and legs. They’re faint in certain lights, but anyone within five feet can see them. Her skin is tan, the scars a few shades lighter and far too numerous. She’s only thirteen, and the sight makes him sick. Toshiro is the one to give her a check-up after she comes out of T&I.

She really does look like Naruto—in the face, mostly. Coloring aside, they have the same softness to their jaws, the same ears, mouth and nose; or at least, they’re similar enough to make it obvious that they’re related. In most clans, the members all look a certain manner that pegs them as such. The Uzumaki were no different—though their red hair was the most prominent signifier. Asuhi doesn’t share many features with either of them, but she’s probably only half Uzumaki and takes after the non-Uzumaki parent. Even her hair is the color of deep garnet and mahogany, while Karin’s is bright, eye-searing scarlet.

To prevent further retaliation by Konoha, Itachi convinced Kusa to give them Karin. Permanently. It was obvious to everyone that she was a victim suffering the aftereffects of the Uzumaki massacre. Even if Kusa had provided her sanctuary from the black market hunters and kekkei genkai killers, they still abused her abilities. They would have bled her dry without a second thought.

Kusa wasn’t particularly  _ happy _ about losing their Uzumaki, but unless they wanted war there wasn’t much else they could do. 

“Your Hokage is a good person,” Karin murmurs. She’s watching every move Toshiro makes as he proceeds with the check-up. “His chakra is amazing.”

Toshiro grins at her, pretending he can’t feel the texture of a hundred bites lining the soft flesh of her arm. “He’s one of a kind, that’s for sure.”

“And...the other Uzumaki here…” She trails off. “It’s just those two?”

“Yes,” he replies quietly, pulling away to make a few notes on his chart. He’s already written down her height, weight, chakra output and blood pressure. She runs a little warm, but he makes a note that it’s a Clan attribute. “You’ll probably be living with Naruto, so I hope you two manage to get along. He spends most of his time at the Hatake Compound, however. You’re welcome to join him if you wish.”

Karin looks down, a blankness to her features that tells him she hasn’t entirely figured out what to feel. Like she’s struggling to understand that this is all real. She looks so small sitting there on the examination table. “He seems...warm. His chakra is kind.”

Toshiro adds sensory abilities to the Clan Attributes section. 

“Yours is too,” she adds after a moment. “You feel like spring water.”

“Oh? Thank you.”

Karin pushes her glasses up her nose, a flush high along her cheekbones. “Yes, well! Don’t think too much into it, okay?”

He manages to chuckle, noting her spirited character. Even after all the trauma she must have suffered—

“I think you and Naruto will get along just fine.”

For the first time since she walked through the hospital doors, Karin looks hopeful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr :)](https://spideyfoof.tumblr.com/) should i make like... a tv tropes or wiki page for this fic? i feel like it'll help people keep track of all the OCs


	29. second bloom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i ... don't have an excuse for how late this is. oops. i know my writing has been slowing down a lot, but im gonna stick it out and finish this fic no matter what !!!
> 
> [tumblr!](https://spideyfoof.tumblr.com/)

Perhaps the worst thing about Orochimaru is that he is both bark and bite. His words are equally as cutting as the serrated steel in his hands, and he can back up his threats with more power than one man should truly have.  _ Especially  _ a man like him.

He stole a Nara with an Uchiha fetus right from under their noses.

_ He is not an idiot. _

The Nara and Uchiha are arguably the most dangerous Clans in Konoha, though the Nara will never show it. (As such, no one ever expects it.) While the Hyuuga and Uchiha went toe to toe in dojutsu and athletic ability, the Nara could tear you apart from the inside. Get in your head. Hide in the shadows. Plan. Wait. When a Nara came for you, they came to  _ win. _

Orochimaru has the entirety of Konoha gunning for his head, and the directed wrath of Konoha’s powerhouses. You couldn’t say he didn’t care—he knew how powerful both Clans were, having been both a Konoha shinobi  _ and _ someone who got their ass kicked by Shisui already. Is it arrogance? Some greater plan festering in the background?

Just thinking about it makes Toshiro nervous, because no matter how many paths his thoughts take, he can’t understand what in the world was running through Orochimaru’s mind. The man can’t think he’ll actually get away with this, can he? (He definitely won’t, no matter how long it takes to find him.) 

“Thinking hard?”

Toshiro’s train of thought comes to a halt. The sounds of the night surge back into focus and he finds himself sat on the engawa, the chill of approaching autumn caressing his skin. He glances over his shoulder, chin pressed to his shoulder. Kakashi hovers in the doorway, body slack and all his weight against the frame. His book hangs loosely from his fingers, and his eye is curved in a way that belays curiosity rather than a smile.

“Yeah.” Toshiro replies quietly.

Kakashi’s posture shifts, his tone sheepish, “Stupid question, huh?”

“There’s no such thing as a stupid question.”

“Maa, you’ve never had to deal with genin hopefuls.” The other man slinks over, lowering himself to sit beside Toshiro. Their elbows brush, Kakashi’s bodyheat a veritable sun amid the night’s lowering temperature. 

“No, but I do work in a hospital.”

“Touche.”

They sit in silence for a moment. Toshiro doesn’t expect a momentous speech from Kakashi, he doesn’t expect anything but a clumsy emotional outreach or a cracked joke to break the tension. Kakashi’s body is the coiled weapon, his actions speak louder than the words he scrounges up. The only awkward comfort he knows how to give his presence and the promise of murder. 

_ I’ll die for you, I’ll kill for you. _

A shinobi’s understanding of comfort. 

Toshiro has become intimately familiar with it. He sighs, tipping his body to the side so he rests firmly against Kakashi. The other man tenses for a brief moment, then adjusts to accommodate the weight. Icha Icha Paradise remains open in one of Kakashi’s hands, unread. Toshiro presses his face into Kakashi’s shoulder, cuddling against the arm he holds captive. Kakashi lets him snuggle close without comment.

Their somber quiet is broken by the muffled sounds of voices coming from inside. 

“Two Uzumaki.” Kakashi whispers quietly. Painfully.

Toshiro chuckles and presses a kiss to Kakashi’s masked cheek. “Oh, you love it.” 

The taller man somehow expresses a completely deadpan expression using only a fourth of his face, social exhaustion in every line of his body. Toshiro laughs again and pushes himself up.

“Alright, let’s go in and see what mess they’ve made now.” He holds out a hand.

Kakashi lets out a gusty sigh, but he takes Toshiro’s hand and allows himself to be pulled up. Rather than let go, Toshiro twines their fingers together. He smiles down at their joined hands, absently tracing a thumb over Kakashi’s scarred knuckles. The lichtenberg scars always look so beautiful—and painful. 

“Ah,” Kakashi makes a soft noise, expression caught somewhere between vulnerability and embarrassment. A soft rose blooms across his visible cheekbone. 

“Kakashi-kun,” Toshiro murmurs very seriously, “You’re ridiculously cute sometimes.”

The rosy blush shifts into a deeper scarlet, and Kakashi begins to look shifty. “Maa, I’m not sure that’s the right adjective—”

“Which one would you prefer?”

Kakashi’s dark eye widens, “Uh—”

“That’s what I thought.” Toshiro swings their joined hands. “My super cute, beautiful, handsome—”

“What’s that?” Kakashi interrupts, “I think I hear the kids beating each other to death! Should probably go check on that.” 

Then he slips from Toshiro’s grasp like silk, disappearing in a flash. Toshiro blinks, staring at the empty space his lover had just occupied, fingers tingling with residue warmth. A smile pulls at his lips, and he presses those cooling fingers to it, feeling the soft curve of happiness. He  _ is _ happy. In small moments. When he doesn’t think of the tragedies falling around him. 

He drops his hand, closing his fingers into a tight fist. 

_ They are going to find them. _

* * *

Karin is an easy addition to the household. While the Uzumaki Compound is being constructed, she and Naruto stay with the Hatake. They don’t have to, as Naruto still has his apartment, but it’s not exactly in  _ good shape. _ There’s a draft, no air conditioning, poor plumbing—and the whole place smells like garbage, because Naruto isn’t great at cleaning up after himself in any capacity. It definitely wasn’t a good place to bring his new cousin.

So the Hatake Compound it was.

She picked up after herself, seemingly used to rules and organization. While just as fiery as Naruto, she wasn’t as consistently talkative and had low moods during which she wanted to be alone. She got along with Sasuke, Sai and Kojika. Shikamaru and her had some kind of agreement of neutrality, and for whatever reason, her and Ino clashed on more than one occasion. 

Toshiro can’t tell if they actually dislike each other or not, but the two girls always have vicious grins on their faces, so it can’t be too bad. 

As the weeks begin to pass, the village trudges on. Many don’t realize how tense the shinobi population is—the clan shinobi especially. Tracking Orochimaru is practically impossible, the man just  _ doesn’t _ mess up. He’s meticulous down to the last breath. 

And he’s not the only issue. 

While Kusa has been tentatively dealt with and Oto is off the rails,  _ Suna _ is still missing a jinchuuriki and a Kazekage. After the attack, the three children of the Kazekage and many other Suna shinobi were apprehended and contained. Most of the shinobi were released as a show of good faith—Suna was at Konoha’s mercy; they were doing Suna a  _ favor, _ one they would be hard-pressed to remember—but the former Kazekage’s children, one of them being the jinchuuriki, remain in custody. 

Which means Jiraiya is back in the village.

He’d just returned last week, blowing through without much fanfare—which is shocking for the man in question. Now, Toshiro doesn’t know too much about intricate seals, but he’s pretty sure that’s what keeps the tailed beasts at bay. Jiraiya being the only fuuinjutsu master they currently have makes it pretty obvious as to what he’s here for. Gaara is only a child, the same age as Itachi’s younger brother, so Toshiro can’t find it in himself to believe the Godaime is planning to harm the boy. All he can really do is trust Itachi. Which isn’t very hard to do at all, because Toshiro is pretty sure he trusts Itachi with the entirety of his soul.

That aside, he can’t seem to throw off the nervous energy nipping at his heels. As long as Hoshika, Touma and Takehiko are gone it will remain that way, dogging every step he takes. When he tries to will himself to sleep at night, he can feel it hovering at the end of his bed like a physical being. 

The nights have been long and restless. He spends more of them locked in his own room than with Kakashi, too keyed up to stand another presence. Kakashi doesn’t say a word. Maybe that’s a god thing, maybe it’s not. Communication has always been a bit wobbly between them, but he likes to think they understand each other where it counts. Where it  _ matters. _

He drowns himself in his work, pushing his body and avoiding sleep—avoiding the hovering anxiety. He drowns and drowns and drowns.

* * *

The door to his office opens. He glances up immediately. Not many have access to bypass the seals, so there are only a handful of people it could be. Yukimura-sensei peeks her head in, her brown hair tied back into a high ponytail. 

“Sensei…” He murmurs, furrowing his brow. “Is something the matter?”

“Yes.” She replies with surety, closing the door behind her. There’s a soft look in her blue eyes, it’s not pity—maybe worry?

He puts his brush down, careful not to knock over his ink. “What is it? Did something happen? Is there a medical emergency—”

Yukimura-sensei waves her hands, “No, no, no, nothing like that. It’s more...personal. I just thought we should sit and have a talk.”

Toshiro does his best not to frown, anxiety looming over his shoulder. He almost tells her that he doesn’t have time for this. He almost asks her to come back later. But she stares at him with familiar eyes and a tense set to her shoulders that tells him she won’t be leaving easily. “Sure.”

She drags over the only other chair in the room and sits herself before his desk. “Do you remember when you first came to me?”

“...Yes.” He’d been ten and fresh off the battlefield, still seeing falling corpses when he blinked. 

“You were this little thing, barely came up to my waist.” She begins, a faraway look on her face. “You had the biggest eyes I’d ever seen on a child—wide and beautiful, but not innocent. You were such a cute kid, you know? But all your eyes carried was death. It was like there was a wall behind them. They call eyes the windows to the soul—and you built a fortress around it, built walls so high I couldn’t see the top. Sometimes when I looked at you it made me ill, because you were so small and quiet and pale, with eyes like a corpse. All I could think about was how it was the world that did it to you, that made you like that. It was Konoha. It was shinobi.

“But you came to me to learn how to heal, and I could never turn that away.” She says, shifting her gaze to meet his, “A child of war, wanting to learn how to put people back together. But you didn’t even notice that you yourself were broken. A shell. You don’t know how happy it made me to watch you piece yourself back together day by day, until fire returned to those hollow eyes of yours. Sometimes I can’t believe that the little boy you were turned into the man I see today. Because you were so sad, Toshiro.  _ So sad and in so much pain _ and sometimes it hurt to even look at you. But I couldn’t look away because I grew to love you, and watching you grow and change and get  _ better _ was the most beautiful thing I could ever hope to observe.”

Toshiro’s words dry up on his tongue. He swallows past the tight ball in his throat and wonders where this impromptu speech is coming from. 

Yukimura-sensei reaches across his desks and takes his clenched hands in hers. “I watched you relearn how to love. I watched you settle back into humanity and learn how to breathe life into the world. Now you have friends, you have a family, you have a lover—”

He clears his throat and she smiles cheekily—but it drops a second later.

“I can’t watch you spiral backwards.” Her grip on his hands tightens. “It took you so long to get here, Toshiro. Please stay strong.”

“I—” His voice cracks, “I’m not spiraling.”

She looks at him carefully, like he’s made of glass. Fragile and see-through. “Yes, you are. You’re pulling away from your family, from your friends. You’re piling more work on your plate than you can handle because it means you don’t have to think. I know how that feels, Toshiro.  _ I know. _ But if you let yourself drown you might not be able to pull yourself out again.”

He grits his teeth, feeling his eyes burn and sting. His face contorts with emotions he can’t hope to name. “I’m sorry.”

Because it’s true, isn’t it? He feels like he can’t breathe some days. Is this really his response to losing someone? It’s the first time he has—though the three of them can’t be dead yet, they just can’t be—since he opened his heart again. How had Kakashi lasted? 

“It’s okay,” Yukimura-sensei murmurs, pressing a palm to his freckled cheek, “It’s  _ okay, _ Toshiro. Just don’t give up hope just yet. And let that poor boy of yours share the weight, will you?”

Toshiro laughs wetly, feeling a bit like his chest has been cracked open. His eyes still burn, but no tears come. “Oh, he doesn’t need anymore tragedy.”

Yukimura-sensei pats his cheek, “That’s his friend too. Those are his little brothers too. Don’t forget that, Toshiro. Don’t sink into your own pain and forget everyone else’s—as hard as that may be. And even if his pain isn’t as heavy as yours, that boy loves you.”

A flush burns across Toshiro’s face. He sinks back a little, pulling his hands back to twist nervously around the ends of his hair. Him and Kakashi don’t speak of love. They don’t put those words into existence because it makes them real, and maybe neither of them are quite ready for that. “Sensei, please—”

“Don’t try to deny it,” she interrupts, tutting softly, “I have eyes, Toshiro. He loves you and I think you love him back. If you’re hurting, he’s hurting. Even if he didn’t care for those poor three—which he does, don’t you forget—he’d be hurting. Lean on him.  _ Lean on him before you fall apart.” _

* * *

Late that night, Toshiro slips out of bed. The house is silent, the moon high and half hidden behind clouds. The weather has been getting colder and colder, and the first snow should be upon them soon. He still feels like he’s drowning, like he might vomit or dissolve into a puddle. His anxiety spikes whenever he thinks of Shisui’s pain, of what his close friend might be feeling. 

_ Bonds.  _

He’s hurting because he cares very desperately for the three that are missing. He’s hurting even more because Shisui hurts. Hurts in a different way, in a sharp way. 

Toshiro pads silently down the hall, careful not to wake any of the children slumbering away. He hovers outside Kakashi’s door for a moment, wondering if he should risk knocking. Turns out he doesn’t have to, because the door opens a second later to reveal Kakashi, maskless and haggard. Seems that neither of them are able to sleep.

Kakashi steps aside to let Toshiro in without a word, then closes the door. 

“I’m sorry,” Toshiro exhales unevenly, “I’ve been pulling away from you. Maybe on purpose. I don’t really know.”

“You don’t have to apologize.” Kakashi’s lips pull into a self-depreciating grin, “I’m very familiar with that kind of behavior.”

“I do,” Toshiro insists. “Because you’re mine and I’m yours and it’s not fair to you. I’m hurting, but you don’t deserve the backlash of pain you aren’t responsible for. I was pulling away, losing myself to the worry and terror of what the future might bring, not realizing that it could damage the present.”

“Have you ever thought about being a writer?” The other man asks, clearly trying to avoid more intimate topics. “You always speak so prettily, I could listen for days.”

“Yes, once.” He replies, “A lifetime ago.”

Kakashi blinks, clearly not expecting that reply. His mouth opens to reveal the flash of too sharp teeth, but no words come.

“I want to learn how to open up to you, Kakashi.” He steps forward to cup the taller man’s cheeks, thumb brushing over the textured slash of the facial scar. “I want to learn how to trust you with my body and my heart.”

Under his hands, Kakashi’s cheeks warm with a scarlet flush. He looks like a deer caught in headlights. Toshiro leans up on his tiptoes and kisses Kakashi’s slackened mouth softly. There is no passion behind it, no tempered heat. Just simple adoration.

“I think we should sleep.” Kakashi says once Toshiro pulls away, and one of his scarred hands comes up to grab one of Toshiro’s. “Come to bed with me.”

Toshiro smiles, “Always.”

* * *

Winter hits, harsh and tumultuous. Howling winds rattle the walls and windows, and fat clouds block out the sun. The snowfall doesn’t start slow, instead it comes down all at once in a torrent of white. When he finally reaches the hospital, his teeth are chattering terribly and his hair is completely frosted with ice. He shakes himself out at the hospital entrance and rubs his arms to warm up, sending a round of chakra through his body. 

Sasuke greets him on his way further in, walking side by side with Sakura to one of the Medical Ninjutsu classes. Sakura notices him a moment later, pulling her gaze from a heavy scroll in her hands. Her partner has been tugging her out of the way before she runs into walls or people—she hasn’t yet mastered Kakashi’s read-and-walk technique. 

“Kojika isn’t with you?” That’s odd, the three of them usually took these classes together. 

Sasuke and Sakura share a look, and the Uchiha responds in a relatively subdued manner, “She’s with the rest of her team. They’re with Shisui again.”

“Ah,” is all he can bring himself to say in response. Shisui has been deteriorating rapidly the longer they go without locating Hoshika.

Sakura grips her scroll tightly, knuckles white against the paper. “Sensei, I…” She bites her lip, turning her jade gaze to the ground.

Toshiro plasters a small grin on his face, “It’s okay. We’re going to get them back and things will go right back to normal.”

Hope shines in their eyes, but the shadow of doubt continues to grow.

* * *

A few days into winter, Naruto comes home with a boy. Not just any boy, but the jinchuuriki of Suna, Gaara. The boy has hair as red as any Uzumaki’s, but none of the features. It doesn’t stop the possibility from  _ being there, _ but Toshiro reminds himself that not every redhead is an Uzumaki, even if, statistically speaking, that’s almost always the case. Gaara’s siblings have blonde and brown hair, so it’s probably leaning towards non-Uzumaki. Probably.

The Suna nin is quiet, his eyes tired and observant and vacant all at once. While his face remains blank, it also seems to convey pain, like the boy is hiding some chronic injury. He sticks to Naruto for the most part, not afraid to speak his opinion but also content to settle into the background.

“Where did you meet him?” Toshiro can’t help but ask, watching Gaara from the corner of his eye. The redhead is listening with what appears to be rapt attention as Shikamaru explains the rules to shogi with a bored look on his face. 

Naruto grins up at him, shining with the strength of a million watts, “Pervy Sage has been teaching me some crazy fuuinjutsu, and Gaara is...well.” The smile fades a little. “He’s a lot like me, ya know? And I thought he could use a friend, ‘cause he doesn't have any and that really sucks. He’s kinda weird and sad, but I sorta get why. His village was super mean, so he was super lonely.”

Toshiro sighs quietly. He can’t really be mad at that explanation. If Gaara is being allowed to roam free, it must mean he’s no longer seen as a threat. Jiraiya probably messed with or strengthened the seal holding the Ichibi. “He can stay as long as he wants. Where are his siblings?”

Naruto scrunches his nose. “I think with Chiasa-nee. They’re kinda rude though, so I don’t care.”

He laughs at the childish response, and pats Naruto’s head before the boy runs off to aggressively hug Shikamaru and insert himself into the conversation. Gaara watches their interaction with slightly wide eyes, and something in Toshiro’s chest softens. Jeez, he’s such a sucker for sad, traumatized kids. He’s not expecting Gaara—and by extension, his siblings—to stay for long. They have a village to get back to, after all, but for as long as they’re here, Toshiro won’t turn them away.

Not after watching Gaara’s hands hover awkwardly when Naruto pulls him into a hug as well, like he doesn’t know what to do. Like he’s never been hugged and has to process the very act before responding. Touch-starved and confused and—

“Wait a minute—how long have you been talking to Jiraiya!?”

* * *

That night, Gaara sleeps over, tucked between Shikamaru and Naruto. The Nara doesn’t look entirely comfortable with the arrangement, but it’s not often he can say no to Naruto, so he suffers in silence. Toshiro is quietly finishing the dishes when he hears their voices drifting in from the living room. They’d set up blankets and futons along the ground, making it a proper sleepover. The house is almost entirely empty aside from them, though Kakashi is in the shower and Karin is bunking with Asuhi tonight. 

“Touma really thought you were cool, you know.” Naruto whispers, though his whisper is barely below the average inside voice. “He was super excited every time he caught a glimpse of you.”

“He doesn’t know who I am.” Gaara replies, not even attempting to whisper.

Toshiro stares at the flowing sink water, scrubbing the last dish mechanically. His chest feels oddly hollow. 

“So? Doesn’t mean he can’t think you’re cool. Hey, when we rescue him, I can introduce you. I bet he’d love to meet you!”

“He...would want to meet me?” Gaara sounds confused. “To...be my friend?”

“Yeah,” and Toshiro can hear the smile in Naruto’s voice, “I think he’d go super crazy if he got to be your friend. Touma’s just like that—always happy and super fun! Just you wait.”

“Are you sure you’ll get him back?”

“Yes.” Both Naruto and Shikamaru reply in unison, and the sheer conviction in their voices shocks Toshiro to his core. 

There’s a brief moment of silence, and then—

“Okay.” Gaara’s response sounds less robotic, like he feels the same lightning down his spine that Toshiro does. “When he comes back, I’ll meet him.”

Naruto sighs happily, “He’s gonna love that.”

“He can love so easily?”

“Of course!” The blonde replies with vehemence. “Like I said, Touma’s just like that. He can love anything and everything.”

“Even me?” Gaara asks, his voice far quieter than before.

“Duh!”

“Ok.”

Shikamaru grunts, interrupting the moment. “Great. Happy times all around. Now can we shut up and sleep?”

Toshiro dries his hands and leans against the counter. Almost four months have come and gone, and yet Naruto’s belief that Touma, Takehiko and Hoshika will return safely has not wavered at all. It’s more than what Toshiro can say for himself, his determination has been waning and fluctuating. He’s terrified. Hoshika will be nearing her ninth month of pregnancy if she’s alive— _ which she is. _ Toshiro recalls the utter belief in Naruto’s voice. The conviction and unwavering loyalty to the idea that the kidnapped three could be anything  _ but.  _

She’s alive. Touma and Takehiko are alive.

It needs to be true. It  _ has _ to be true. 

* * *

“He wants to  _ what?”  _

Kakashi swallows, dark eye shifting into a half crescent. “Ah, he said….he wants to take Naruto on a training trip.”

Toshiro is sure his face displays his distaste at the idea. “He wants to take a thirteen year old boy on a training trip for Sage knows how long. The notorious pervert with no respect for women’s bodies or personal space, who writes porn and leaves his drafts out for too-young eyes to potentially see?  _ That _ Jiraiya?”

Kakashi’s face begins to rapidly pale, sweat dotting the visible part of his face. “Hm...seems so.”

He grits his teeth. It’s not as if he’s Naruto’s guardian. Truthfully, Jiraiya being Naruto’s godfather means he  _ technically _ has a right to take Naruto with him.  _ Technically. _ But seeing as Naruto is a genin, and therefore an adult in the eyes of Konoha law, Jiraiya can’t force Naruto to leave short of kidnapping him out of the village. But Naruto can decide to go. Naruto, who loves having attention and opportunities to train, who would love to learn more of his Clan’s skill under a master. 

“I don’t like it.” He admits.

“I know.” Kakashi tugs at the sleeve of Toshiro’s kimono. “But Jiraiya could teach him things that no one else can.”

“Naruto has a family now,” he presses, “Karin  _ needs _ him!” 

_ We _ need him.

“I’m sure we can figure something out. Nothing’s set in stone yet. I didn’t flat out agree, because Naruto is  _ my _ student and Team 7 is a  _ good _ team. It would fall apart if we broke them up.” Kakashi’s fingers slip from Toshiro’s sleeve to tangle their hands together. “I don’t know what the right answer is. Naruto’s situation is...precarious. And Jiraiya has a spy organization to run. His work is too important to keep him in the village for excessively long periods of time. He’s already antsy to leave.”

Toshiro sags and leans into Kakashi’s chest, the sunlight spilling in from the kitchen window making his hair glow. “He’s not even a chunin.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure Itachi will—”

They both straighten as a chakra signature smashes through their front door. Wood splinters and flies, and they barely restrain themselves from attacking immediately.

Shisui stands like a wild beast in the door, heaving like he’s desperate for air. He looks terrible—he has for weeks and months now—eyebags near black and hair long and unkempt.

“They found it.” He gasps. “The hideout where Hoshi and the kids are being kept.  _ They found it.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> check out my [tumblr](https://spideyfoof.tumblr.com/) for art, requests and questions!


	30. gladiolus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> damn it's been a whiiiiile! sorry, i've been dealing with a lot recently since this is my senior year in college!! i also put aside fanfic for november to try to work on my Original Novel during nanowrimo. then finals in december.... well, it's been a trip lol. i've also started a huge project called 365 Days of Naruto AUs, where im going to be writing a naruto oneshot every day for 2021. (au only, as u might have guessed) so feel free to check those out! if any get a lot of positive responses, i might be swayed into continuing some....

Toshiro wants to go. He wants to go so bad he can taste it as viscerally as the copper tang of blood. His fingernails dig indents into the flesh of his arms and he stands with his jaw clamped so tightly his teeth creak. 

There is no actual reason for him to be in the Hokage’s office, no real reason for him to be listening in on their plan to rescue Nara Hoshika, Hatake Touma and Hatake Takehiko. No other reason aside from the fact that Itachi was soft—that Itachi was furious, and his trust rested on Toshiro’s shoulders. Perhaps the weight was far heavier than he had previously realized. It’s a little scary to think about how much his opinion matters to the leader of their Village.

It makes Toshiro feel like he’d done something monumental without realizing.

But he couldn’t have, could he?

“There’s no point in stopping you from going,” Itachi says to Shisui. “I’m sure even if I ask you to stay behind, you’d disobey.”

Shisui’s lips quirk, but a smile doesn’t settle on his face. “You know me best.”

Itachi sighs and furrows his brow. “Kakashi, you’re in charge of Team 2.”

“Who’s leading Team 1?” 

“I am.” The Godaime says, pushing himself up. He glances around the room at the gathered jounin, almost all recognizable to Toshiro. “I think it’s about time we put the issue of Orochimaru to rest. We’re heading out in an hour. Prepare yourselves.”

Immediately, the room clears. Kakashi brushes a hand by Toshiro’s elbow before vanishing himself, probably heading back to sort his weapons. Toshiro stays, tense and dismayed. The urge to follow them into battle is overwhelming, consuming— _ hilarious. _ Because Toshiro is a medic, first and foremost, and he does not enter the frontlines. He stays back as the last line of defense and he doesn’t have Tsunade’s abilities to allow him to do otherwise. He’s also only a chunin.  _ A chunin. _ There’s no way they’d let him on an S ranked mission like this unless he had a useful ability. 

On top of that, there’s the hospital. He doesn’t yet have plans in place for a replacement in case anything were to happen to him. He can’t allow the hospital to fall to shambles after all the hard work he’s put into it. 

(Not that he thinks the people around him aren’t capable—especially now. But...he’s proud of what he’s done so far, and the list isn’t finished yet.

“I hope you don’t think I’m…”

Toshiro glances up at Itachi, who looks every bit the teenager he still is. Still just eighteen. When the winter melts away to spring, to almost-summer, he’ll be nineteen. He’s a good leader, a good man. But still more  _ boy _ in the lankiness to his limbs and vestiges of baby-fat stubbornly clinging to his cheekbones. Within the next year or so he’ll look more like a man—but all Toshiro can see is that little twelve year old who handed him crimson earrings, with eyes beyond his years and tiny fingers marred with shuriken scars. 

“Trust me,” He assures despite his displeasure, “I know this isn’t personal. It’s logical. There’s no point in having me on the team.”

Itachi’s face flickers to relief for the briefest moment. “Your medical expertise would be a great advantage. I wanted to ask you for a recommendation. A med-nin you trust to stabilize any injuries.”

“You’re quite the medic yourself at this point, Itachi.” And it’s true, the Uchiha hasn’t lightened up his lessons despite all the stress of being Hokage. Toshiro sighs. “Yamanaka Mayomi, Susaki Shu and Uchiha Tetsuya. I’d recommend those three.”

“Tetsuya is part of your project.”

Toshiro nods, a wry smile on his lips. “I know, so I’m trusting all of you to return in one piece.”

Itachi’s exhales lightly. “Doctor’s orders?”

“Doctor’s orders.”

* * *

They move within the hour. The trees are bare, spindly creatures in the winter, no help to those who wish to use them for stealth. A shinobi must be prepared for this, however, and any shinobi who made their home in the trees would learn to adjust. 

Kakashi slips across the snow at high speeds, backed by three other shinobi. He has to wonder if Itachi made the right call in putting him in charge, skill be damned. He’s too close. Those are his little brothers he’s rescuing, normally someone like him wouldn’t be trusted to make the right decisions for the team—but this is different. Konoha is becoming different. The words Kakashi lived by for years, the words Obito told him when they were children, now they soaked the ranks of Konoha shinobi under the leadership of Itachi—and Toshiro. 

Toshiro who felt like just as much of a shadow leader as Itachi. Didn’t act like it, obviously, not the way Danzo did. But he nudged them along, gave suggestions and listened to everyone and everything. He was good at that, Toshiro. Listening. Hearing the problems the world thrust upon them all and actually  _ wanting _ to help.  _ Wanting _ to make it better and offer advice. 

Toshiro wasn’t made to be a shinobi. Kakashi knows that now, and thinks he probably knew it early on. Konoha stole life from Toshiro and the blond turned around and made something of the scraps. He  _ refused _ to be stomped down, clawing his way back from the depths that most war-torn shinobi fell down to die in, bloody and regretful. 

Kakashi doesn’t know how these terrible hands of his could ever touch something as strong and beautiful as Aikawa Toshiro. But maybe that kind of thinking doesn’t really matter, as long as Toshiro is happy. As long as Toshiro chooses  _ him, _ Kakashi.

They are silent across the snow. Breaths puff out in clouds before them, barely visible as they’re ripped away by the speed of their movements. Gai, Raidou and Anko. He expects words. The rage is there, the simmering discomfort and desire to hurt Orochimaru—but not a peep. They’re too focused. Too determined. The seriousness of the situation is felt by them all. Even Anko, who Kakashi puts right behind Gai when it comes to raucousness, is stone faced. 

She probably knows she’s only here because of Itachi’s good will. He’s letting her be here to get some semblance of revenge and closure.

They’ve been walking on eggshells around him for a while now, since it’s  _ his _ family that’s in danger. Now it’s all coming to a head and Kakashi isn’t sure if he’s grateful for the silence or not.

It’s too easy to fall into his thoughts. He thinks he’d prefer it if Gai started running his mouth. Then he’d at least stop thinking about all the ways this could potentially go wrong. He’s up to 137 different ways.

They’ve been getting progressively worse.

Maybe it’s selfish of him, but he just wants them alive, no matter what state. Limbless or eyeless or whatever terrible, gory reality—alive.  _ Alive. _ Even if their quality of living is greatly reduced.

It’s probably selfish. 

He can’t bring himself to care.

He knows Shisui must feel the same way.  _ Anything is okay as long as they’re alive. Anything. _

While he definitely doesn’t care about what happens to Orochimaru, he cares about what happens to Shisui. The other man seems one stiff breeze away from going ballistic, and seeing the cause of his wrath certainly won’t do him any favors. It’s good that Itachi is at the forefront of the other team with Shisui….

Even if Itachi is the scariest of them all.

A few miles ahead of them, an explosion can be heard. 

Kakashi stops momentarily, some odd mixture of anticipation and exasperation swirling in his gut. His team pauses as well, eying the rising smoke.

“Looks like they’ve already reached the hideout.” Raidou mutters. His specialty is assassination and stealth, so the sight of such an obvious frontal attack is likely the last thing he signed up for. 

“Guess we better catch up!” Gai exclaims, jumping high enough to click his feet together and shake the snow from his orange leg warmers. “We’ll reach there in no time if we double our pace! No, we should triple—”

“Lets go.” Kakashi interrupts. 

“Gladly.” Anko replies, her expression like poison. 

* * *

The problem isn’t Orochimaru. 

Funny, seeing how he’s been the biggest thorn in their side for the past few decades. 

As strong as he is, he’s nothing compared to both Itachi and Shisui. (The sharingan certainly helps, which, to their assumption, is why Hoshika was kidnapped in the first place.) No, the issue is the scores of prisoners half out of their minds and attacking whatever moves, even each other. They normally wouldn’t be awful to deal with if it weren’t for the fact that a majority of them have some kind of kekkei genkai or curse mark. 

“Raidou.”

“On it.” The man nods, fading into the shadows as if he were a Nara. There’s a reason a stealth oriented shinobi like Raidou was chosen.  _ To locate the kidnap victims. _ He’d be backed by the chosen medic who’d already arrived and—

Kakashi surveys the battle field; the horde of bodies and blood, screams and shouts ringing in his sensitive ears.

Good. It looked like Uchiha Tetsuya was already inside.

Kakashi dives into the carnage and does what he does best.  _ Hurt people. _ The first is a man with purple skin, veins bulging grotesquely. He’s easily a foot taller than Kakashi, but bigger doesn’t mean better. All that weight does nothing for the man’s speed. And Kakashi has speed in spades.

He leaps, toes balancing on the man’s swollen shoulders for only a moment. A kunai is thrust into the vulnerable space between the man’s skull and vertebrae. Kakashi pulls it free with a wet  _ schlick _ noise, moving onto the next target. There’s so many of them, most without above average skill. It seems Orochimaru was more concerned with conducting experiments on his victims than he was with training them. Kind of obvious, seeing as they’d end up trying to revolt if they got strong enough. 

This much, Kakashi can handle. As long as he doesn’t get distracted by the spectacle that is three S-tier shinobi duking it out without any stops.

Another kunai to the neck. 

He twirls between the bodies of two attackers, sharp blades cutting into their sides. Blood splashes across the ground. Kakashi flips back to gain a little more ground, then surges forward with a better angle. He dispatches both of them with a quick slide of his weapon. He avoids most of the blood, but aiming for vital points means he inevitably ends up getting spots and splatters on him from the spray, especially since he isn’t concerning himself with stealth or  _ cleanliness. _ This is just an all out  _ who can kill who the fastest _ fight.

(As previously mentioned, Kakashi is very fast.)

His heart pounds with the adrenaline, but he remains outwardly calm. There’s a lot to take in, a lot for his senses to adjust to. It’s something he’s gotten used to, something he’s had fun teaching his adopted family members. The sounds of violence are reckless and loud but they can be toned down to manageable levels. The overwhelming scent of blood, sweat and piss can be blocked if you focus. 

Kakashi is focusing very hard. 

He doesn’t want to die here, not when he finally wants to live. Not when he  _ finally _ has a life he can be proud of, one that he can gladly tell his father about when they meet in the afterlife. A long overdue conversation that his father is going to have to wait a lot longer for—not that Sakumo will mind. 

Kakashi swerves under a blow and launches a kunai at an assailant a few meters away. It sinks into the meat of the man’s chest, straight to the heart. Kakashi backflips and kicks a thrown shuriken with the heel of his shoes. It shoots off course, directly into the reaching arm of a woman dressed in rags, her hair wild and her eyes completely yellow, sclera and all. She howls like an animal, mouth full of too many teeth—to the point where she can’t close it, and drool spills down her chin and neck, soaking the collar of her clothes. 

When she keeps reaching, Kakashi snaps her arm at the elbow and kicks her away, sending her soaring into another group with the force of his blow. Someone spews fire in his direction and he  _ sinks _ into the ground. He hears the screams of others caught in the torrent of flames. 

_ They really don’t care for each other, do they? _

Their brains have probably been tampered with. Their bodies. Their instincts. Orochimaru destroyed hundreds of lives, possibly thousands. He ruined families, slaughtered children, felt no remorse for the people he used like mere tools. 

It was disgusting. 

Whatever fucked up complex Orochimaru had didn’t mean his life was suddenly worth more than those he destroyed. He was a scumbag, plain and simple, and the Sandaime should have killed him when he had the chance.

Kakashi would do a lot of things for his friends and family, for those he loved so desperately it was painful. Orochimaru did all this for himself. For no one and nothing but his own desires.

(How….pitiful.)

He grasps the ankles of the nearest person and pulls them under. In the next instant he’s out of the ground, lashing out with a foot to kick their head clean off their body. Blood spews like a fountain at the abrupt removal, but Kakashi doesn’t get a drop on him, already moving on to the next. 

Yes, Orochimaru has always been a problem after he committed atrocities against his own people (against  _ any _ people), but now? Now it felt even more personal. 

Kakashi thinks of Toshiro, of Shisui and Hoshika and Touma and Takehiko—he thinks of Danzo, who’d been poison in human form—when had the shadows in Konoha become places to fear rather than places for shinobi to hide away in to protect others?

_ Obito, Rin, Sensei….had it always been like this? Am I always the last to know? _

No. Maybe he’s always seen, just pretended not to. Maybe he’s been turning a blind eye because he didn’t know how to think outside of the box Konoha made, outside of the words Konoha taught obsessively. The shinobi world...desperate for power. 

Kakashi is a tool even when he preaches about bonds. He knows this. He knows he’s a sword to be wielded at the behest of Konoha and its people. But even tools like him have some measure of pride.

_ Even tools should be allowed a voice. _

He remembers pink eyes and a speech about a Konoha that owned up to its promises.

He slices the next two attackers to ribbons.

Their blood falls at his feet, crushed into the earth under his heel. Close combat taijutsu is initiated as one particularly speedy prisoner manages to dodge his first few swipes. He hears Gai’s excitable voice from somewhere to his left, no doubt tearing through defenses with enviable ease. Gai is too kind, however. Kakashi goes for the killing blow on the first strike, Gai seeks to incapacitate. Sometimes Kakashi doesn’t know why a man like Gai chose to be a shinobi, outside of the fact that his father was one.

That being said, why was Kakashi a shinobi? 

Because it was expected of him? Because his father was one? Because he was lauded as a genius, and therefore a valuable resource?

When did he start seeing kids as  _ kids _ and not soldiers? 

Not for the first time, Kakashi realizes he’s grown tired of death and bloodshed. He’s good at it, sure. Probably won’t be able to stop himself now that he’s in this deep...but.  _ But. _ He never really had a choice, did he? Toshiro had been so adamant on letting the children choose to be shinobi or civilians, even though their potential was clearly suited for shinobi work—even though Danzo had been raising them for that very reason. 

(Live fast, die young. That was the unspoken motto of the shinobi lifestyle.)

If you put a shinobi lifespan beside a civilian lifespan, the numbers were staggeringly different. Enough that it felt like two separate species of human entirely...enough that twelve years old was a full adult to a shinobi, and almost halfway through the expected lifespan. Twelve was a  _ child, _ a young, not-yet teen to a civilian. It was the time where girls and boys teased each other, where parents started worrying about dating. 

Though, he supposes, civilians still think sixteen is an adequate marrying age as well. That’s an overarching cultural phenomenon, a result of poor health and care in the past centuries. He can’t imagine any of the kids being ready for marriage at sixteen—can’t imagine  _ Chiasa, _ the one closest to the age, getting married off and having children in the next few years.

It’s funny.

All this in front of his face for years, and he really hadn’t seen it. Hadn’t wanted to see it. 

The earth explodes in front of his, a body gouging deep furrows into the ground. He dodges the barrage of rock and dirt and slips his hitae-ate up. The sharingan spins and flares, cutting through the haze and rapid movements of the other prisoners.

Orochimaru heaves himself up out of the dirt, looking half beaten to death. Kakashi doesn’t think twice. He flies forward, chidori blazing to life from his fingertips. The scream of a million birds fills the air in a shrill cacophony. Kakashi appears by the worn-out Orochimaru’s side in the blink of an eye.

Beaten as he is, the man isn’t an S class shinobi, a  _ legendary sannin, _ for nothing. The snake manages to dodge with an inhuman twist of his body—right into Shisui’s waiting blade.

The Uchiha is feral in his victory, eye pulsing a deep crimson, black pupil expanded into pinwheels. With only a single sharingan, he’s perhaps the most terrifying Uchiha Kakashi has ever witnessed.  _ Because he was born to use it. _ Not like Kakashi, who struggles with it day to day, who grows exhausted easily and never really feels fully rested.

The blade is short. A tanto. Shisui’s specialty, much like Kakashi. It makes a wet squelching noise when Shisui pulls it out, his movements vicious and curved for maximum damage. His lips are pulled up into a wide, unhinged grin; every tooth is on display, like a proud, wild animal. Soundless, speedy, like a panther or a swooping bird of prey.

Itachi isn’t here. Kakashi doesn’t think about that for much longer. 

Orochimaru vomits a spray of blood, face twisted into something ugly and wrathful—something desperate to live no matter who he crushed underfoot.

“You’ll never fix her without me—”

Shisui grabs the snake by the throat, shoves him into the ground, swings a leg over the brutalized body, and stabs his tanto into Orochimaru’s eye.

“I’ll cut out that fucking tongue next.” He says, voice barely above his normal speaking volume. He almost sounds perfectly sane, even as Orochimaru screams below him.

Kakashi is very glad he’s on Konoha’s side.

Orochimaru goes quiet, his body stills.

“Are you not going to kill him?” Kakashi asks, his ears telling him that the snake’s heart still beats. It’s his chakra network that seems disturbed. The copy-nin can’t find any sympathy. He deserves even more than what an Uchiha genjutsu can do.

“Of course!” Shisui replies with a chipper grin, pulling himself up. He stands by Kakashi, their shoulders brushing. They both look down at the bloody body of Orochimaru, the legendary sannin, the beloved student of the Sandaime Hokage—

“I just wanted him to suffer a little more.” The Uchiha finishes, his single sharingan flashing once more.  _ “Amaterasu.” _

And the man with too many titles, who got away with far too much, who prided himself on his power and need and ability...burned. Like tinder. Like every other body. He died like any other man, like any other person. Kakashi turns his nose away, disgusted by the smell but not a drop of remorse in his body. Shisui’s forehead drops against his soldier.

They watch Orochimaru turn to ashes.

* * *

Orochimaru’s hideout really is like a snake den. They enter and the temperature immediately feels like it’s dropped a few degrees. The walls are all stone, everything the same drab color. An air of misery emanates from every inch of it. They pass a few rooms containing cells, the conditions deplorable. Kakashi loathes to think about how many have suffered, loathes to think about how the three that were kidnapped were treated. Did they stay here? Two small kids and a pregnant woman? Were they separated? Were they alive? Had they been turned into beasts and now lay dead outside with the rest of the mindless prisoners?

If he’d ended one of their lives with his own hand, Kakashi really thinks he just might die.

Shisui lets out a sound. 

They turn into the next hall to see Itachi, Raidou and Tetsuya—

A body. A woman. She’s—  _ alive. _

Shisui darts forward and Kakashi follows a half a step behind. A heavily pregnant Hoshika is laid out, Raidou’s vest under her head. She looks exhausted and haggard but not hurt or underfed. Makes sense, if Orochimaru wanted a healthy baby. Her eyes are hazy, as if covered by a film. She looks incredibly disoriented and in pain, though Kakashi has yet to identify any wound at all. Her dark skin is waxy, her lips bloodless, her hair in disarray and longer than it had been all those months ago—she’s alive.

Shisui falls to his knees and reaches for her, desperation plain on his face. Itachi and Tetsuya barely look at him, their hands both lit up in green. 

Itachi doesn’t even glance up to address Kakashi. “Kakashi, you need to go ahead. We haven’t found the kids yet.”

“What?”  _ Why not? _

“She’s going into labor.” 

The silence is almost painful. Hoshika’s breaths get more erratic by the second. 

“She was recovered from a tank of some kind.” Tetsuya elaborates. “Her body has been under so much stress these past few months, it’s lucky she even held out this long.”

The medic-nin’s words are brutal, but Shisui barely seems to hear them. He’s completely invested in every microexpression that passes Hoshika’s face, his own eerily blank as he strokes her hair with hands stained with Orochimaru’s blood.

“We’re delivering this baby right now.” Itachi confirms, a sickly pallor to his face. His hands are trembling slightly, his sharingan flickering on and off.

_ Eighteen. _ Kakashi thinks.

“Right. Right.” He clears his throat, then bites his thumb through his mask and smacks his hand to the rough, cold floor. “Summoning jutsu!”

A puff of smoke clears to reveal all eight of his hounds.

“What’s up, boss?” Pakkun says, glancing around. “Huh. So this is the place…”

“Not a lot of time to explain. I need you guys to find Touma and Takehiko.”

“Consider it done.”

They all dash off in different directions, the sound of their paws on the stone echoing in the halls. Kakashi spares another glance for the others, eyes lingering on Itachi and his glowing hands, on Shisui and his palpable anxiety, on Hoshika and—

Her first scream as the birthing begins.

“Sounds like you’re having a rough time here, nii-san.”

Kakashi glances back in surprise, to where Shisui and he had come from. “You—what are you all doing here?”

Chiasa offers the smallest quirk of her lips, which might as well be a fully-fledged smile. “We’re the back-up, nii-san. As ordered.”

Beside her stands Hyuuga Atsuzumi, Nara Tsushika—and  _ Gaara. _

What the hell was a genin doing here?

Kakashi glances at Itachi. The young Hokage is looking at Chiasa with something like relief in his obsidian dark eyes. 

“You came.”

Chiasa kneels beside Itachi. “Of course we did. And you can do this, Itachi-san.”

Itachi’s hands stop shaking.

“Why is...Why is Gaara here?” Kakashi manages to ask. The kid is standing there awkwardly with his arms crossed like a little adult. He’s been around the Hatake compound a few times so it’s not like Kakashi thinks he’ll turn around and try to kill all of them—but. Letting him join a mission like this? Even as back-up...

“They were instructed to come only after we successfully neutralized Orochimaru. Gaara-kun’s ability makes him ideal for transporting those who may be weak or injured over long distances.” Itachi replies.

_ His sand. _

“Understood. We’ll find the other two.”

Gaara steps forward then, voice like gravel. “I want to help.”

Kakashi barely blinks. He’s wasted enough time. “Sure. You know what to look for?”

“Yes.” The redhead replies. 

“I’ll join the search as well.” Atsuzumi announces, his byakugan flaring to life. He goes off in a different direction, while Gaara follows Kakashi.

Even if he’s a jinchuuriki, he’s still a twelve year old boy and Kakashi is not letting him out of his sight. (Even more so when Gaara is technically still a political hostage.)

They don’t talk as they run. Neither of them are particularly good conversationalists anyway. Candles line the walls, flickering as they pass and sending their shadows across the floor. They open every door they come across, going deeper and deeper into the seemingly endless snake den. 

Finally, they reach a room with a door larger than the rest. Kakashi holds up a hand and they both pause. When Kakashi takes a breath, all he smells is dust and the heavy scent of chemicals. It’s almost overpowering.

Sand slips under the crack at the bottom.

He glances over to Gaara in surprise. The boy has a hand over one of his eyes, a look of concentration on his face. After a brief moment, he drops the hand, and the sand slithers back out from under the door.

“They’re in there. It’s empty otherwise.”

Kakashi immediately throws the door open.

Inside is a room that looks like a laboratory, and the only adjectives that come to mind are  _ dark _ and  _ dank. _ Gleaming silver tables, shelves lined with tools and jars of preserved bits that Kakashi can’t make sense of. Dead animals in cages.  _ Live _ animals in cages. The main attraction is a set of huge tubes, big enough for people, near the back of the room. Massive pipes trail across the ground to the base of the tubes. All of them are empty aside from two.

Two.

Filled with greenish liquid illuminated by inner lights. 

Two.

With a body floating in each.

Kakashi presses up to the one closest, seeing the slack face of Takehiko. Terror claws at his chest and brain because the boy looks  _ dead, _ immobile and floating like a piece of driftwood. Brown hair floats like a halo around his head, long enough to probably brush below his chin. Amber eyes are shut tight. But he looks the same aside from the obvious few months of aging. Same birthmark below his eye. Same slope of his nose, same ears, same sharp Hatake teeth poking from partially open lips. 

Touma is much the same, his hair long and curling in the water like a wild mane. He’s ten years old now.

Kakashi has no idea what to do.

Gaara smashes the tanks with his sand.

_ Well, that’s one way to do it. _

He leaps forward to catch Takehiko, his little body entirely limp. He’s soaked, as expected, hair sticking to his head. Kakashi maneuvers him carefully. Gaara catches Touma with his sand and brings the dark haired boy close. 

Almost at the same time, both the boys’ bodies seem to register that they’re no longer being supplied that….liquid. The hacking begins in the next moment, greenish liquid spilling past their lips as they rid their lungs of it.

Kakashi doesn’t even care that he’s getting lung-liquid all over his clothes. They’re already coated in blood, this isn’t nearly as bad. Takehiko finishes coughing up all the liquid, then takes a huge, choking breath. He doesn’t wake.

But he keeps breathing.

_ That’ll do. _

Takehiko shivers as the wetness clinging to his skin meets the chill of the air around them. Kakashi quickly shrugs off his vest, then his outer shirt. It leaves him in his mesh undershirt. The vest isn’t exactly made of a material suited for drying someone, and it’s also covered in blood. There isn’t much else he can do but just slip his outer shirt over Takehiko’s tiny body, covering him almost entirely. 

He glances over at Gaara. The kid really is small for his age, freshly twelve—having spent his birthday here in Konoha—and Touma is basically the same size in spite of being two-ish years younger. The redhead cradles the other boy with his arms rather than his sand, looking all the world like he isn’t sure what expression he  _ should _ be making. Touma heaves once more and Gaara very awkwardly pats his back, having mimicked Kakashi’s movements in turning him over so he doesn’t choke on the liquid.

Purple eyes blink open. They stare blankly for a moment; a single, haunting moment. Then life seems to return to them, a brightness that Kakashi remembers the boy always carrying. Touma shifts, registering the arms around him.

He looks directly into Gaara’s seafoam eyes, brows furrowed and lips parted—and recognition registers a beat later. 

“Oh, Gaara-san.” Touma says, voice croaking like a frog from disuse. He grins, wide and sunny like nothing bad has happened at all. “My hero.”

And Gaara—

Gaara looks completely flabbergasted. As if no one has ever put the name  _ Gaara _ beside the word  _ hero. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i do not know how to write battle scenes so this is the best ur gonna get, pls take ur complaints up with my lawyer


End file.
